


you hold yourself against the waves (you say the water's fine)

by ghozting, keithkin (ghozting)



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Astral Projection, Black Paladin Lance (Voltron), Drama & Romance, Fix-It, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, well. sort of. not really? you'll see
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-13
Updated: 2019-09-10
Packaged: 2019-09-17 19:30:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 115,293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16980441
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghozting/pseuds/ghozting, https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghozting/pseuds/keithkin
Summary: Lance staggers a bit, eyes widening as they spread across the rich hues of purple which blossom like flowers on a vine. White dots splatter against the colored void, shining brightly but too far away for Lance to feel their warmth. He finds two other dots against the darkscape, larger than the rest yet still hardly noticeable, each separately colored red and blue. Weird. As they catch his attention, the stars seem to shine brighter for a split second before they fade.His brows knit together. This place is more familiar than the last.A frown takes his lips, as well-known as the scenery that had shifted around him moments before. Lance was never in Cuba, was he? He was always here, always lost in this void. Always separated from his family with a fine line that’s light-years long.He chokes on a heavy sigh and he remembers that he doesn’t need to breathe. Not here. Not anymore.In which Lance falls in love, saves Shiro from the astral plane, becomes one of Voltron's leaders pro tem, and finds his home. Not necessarily in that order, but hey, he's trying.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> I'm posting this before season 8 airs so you guys can have a sense of comfort. I am NOT done here (here being my version of Voltron... so no racism, homophobia, and imperialism). I probably will never get over these characters? That's fun. Watch me buy the rights to Voltron in 30 years and make everything better.
> 
> Anyway. If you know me, then you know this fic. I've been gathering ideas for this fic since a little before season 5 aired waaayyy back in March. I put it off for too long and I told myself I'd be done by the time Voltron was over but uh. Here We Are. I'm definitely not even close to finishing this fic, but that isn't important. The important part is that I'm getting over myself and actually posting this after months and months of procrastination! Go me!
> 
> I love this fic and the whole idea of it. It makes me incredibly nostalgic for what we could've had in canon, and I hope to make you feel the same way. Buckle down, y'all, because this will be a WILD ride. I'll see you at the bottom!
> 
>  
> 
> The title is from the song The Water's Fine by The Family Crest

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> edited 8/14/19

 

>>>

 

 

081120XX

 

“... so I know that this is hard,” Allura said as she folded her hands across her stomach, “but it is time we focus on the future. As a team...it is time for us to move on.”

Her words rang loud and clear in the control room, but they hung in the air as if they refused to settle. It was weird, how it made the situation before Lance and the rest of the team much more real. He thought he'd be more surprised when the time came to pack their bags and start on the next thing for the Voltron Coalition, but instead, all Lance felt was a deep ache in his chest, compressing and shielding his heart into a diamond. Then again, he felt that way every time he remembered Shiro was gone. Missing, dead, drifting out in open space to only God knows where. He didn't want to believe it was over, that their weeks of searching between missions where he'd have to lead the team out of their aimlessness would end with them just...giving up.

Maybe that was what hurt the most. After everything, after all the time they spent checking planets close to the final battle with Zarkon and through empty space, it ended up useless. Their hope, now reduced to thin sheets the team wore as masks, had been pulled away from them. There was nothing left to cover their helplessness.

Keith's eyebrows furrowed low on his face and he ripped his eyes away from Allura to look down at the floor. At his sides, his hands tighten into tight fists, and they shake with the strain of poorly-concealed anguish. It didn't take long for his entire face to crack, and before anyone could say a word to Keith, he pulled away, leaving the space between Lance and the others emptier than it had been before.

No one said anything when the door opened and sealed shut with a hiss so final a chill crawled down Lance’s spine. As the sound echoed in the room, it somehow pushed down Allura’s mission statement along with it, leaving a wet, suffocating blanket draped over him and his friends.

It’s more than understandable that Keith’s hurting, Lance knew this, but for some reason, it didn’t stop the feeling of dread reaching the deepest parts of him. Lance had lost family before—people he’d never known, at least—but Keith? He lost a _brother_. Losing Shiro hurt more than anything Lance had ever felt and he hadn’t even been close to him. He couldn’t even imagine the pain Keith’s going through.

“Was that...harsh?” Allura asked, voice a pitch softer than it had been before. The lines underneath her eyes, there ever since the day she had stumbled out of her cryopod months ago, seemed to look deeper, almost like they stained her skin—evidence of emotional scars.

Pidge breathed in a shuddering breath, her small frame shaking from the force. Her bottom lip quivered and she bit down on it as she sniffled, and despite her glossy eyes, Lance knew she wouldn’t cry, no matter how much she wanted to. His shoulders fell and he looked over to Hunk.

“No, I don’t think it was,” Hunk assured after a silent beat. He looked down to the tiles, taking a purple hue from the lighting and deep space surrounding them. The corners of his lips tug into a frown. “He just needs time, Princess. You should know how much losing your family sucks.”

With bulging eyes, Lance whipped his head in the opposite direction to face Hunk, who pointedly avoided everyone’s gaze. He had never gotten snappy with Allura, not that Lance had ever seen, so witnessing it firsthand was like watching a disaster happen in slow motion. Regardless of his words, a gentle look was stretched across Allura’s face, which only worried Lance more. Either she was bitter or passively indifferent to Hunk’s comment, but before she could speak, either to reprimand Hunk or something worse, like _agree,_ Hunk opened his mouth again.

“I think we all need time.” he clarified, voice firmer this time around. There was no way he could hide the look across his face, the sadness, and unsubtle fear, but despite that, he held his chin high. “We all lost someone important to us, but Keith’s taking it the hardest, so... we need to be there for each other while things settle.”

“Keith lived alone in a shack at eighteen,” Pidge mumbled, her eyebrows pressed down into her eyes. “He had to handle seeing the results of the Kerberos mission, and then he—he had nowhere to go after that. If I had known he’d be alone—”

“Okay, but he isn’t alone this time.”

 Everyone turned to Lance and the sudden attention made him feel small. Where had that come from? Sure, he wouldn’t leave Keith behind as the rest of the team crawled through the stages of grief, but...he really hadn’t expected himself to speak out, and the curious looks on Allura and Hunk’s face said they hadn't either.

“What? It’s true,” he continued, albeit a little defensively. “If we’re going to make this work, we have to be there for him and each other. It’s bad enough that we can’t form Voltron, we can’t make things worse by falling apart at the seams—we’re already going to be struggling as it is.”

For a moment, silence fell over the team. No one else said a word but their eyes grew almost confused as they collectively shared a glance. It was like the rug had been pulled out from underneath them—Lance felt it, too—but instead of lingering on the comment, Allura took a deep breath and nodded her head. 

What she said next only surprised him. With a determined glint in her eye, she raised her shoulders, looking at him like she was ready to start a revolution, and then asked, “Do you have any idea as to what we’re supposed to do now, then?”

He blinked. Pidge and Hunk watched him with carefully blank faces as they waited for him to say something. He opened his mouth to speak before shutting it. Even Coran looked at him like he was awaiting an answer.

“Um?” Lance replied, eloquently. “What do you—mean?”

Allura’s expression softened and his heart rate picked up. “Well, you have been the one guiding the team on these last few missions.”

“Not to mention you totally mother-hen us, dude.”

“I think Number Three would make a very fine leader,” Coran said as he twirled the end of his mustache.

“Yeah,” said Pidge as she adjusted the frames of her glasses, “you’ve proven to be a capable leader. Heavy empathy and whatever, so…”

“I, uh…” He knitted his eyebrows together as he looked away from his friends, out to the open space outside of the Castle of Lion’s windows.

He knew he was the one who had taken over missions when the team’s planetside, but was that really enough to get everyone—mostly everyone, he had to remind himself, since Keith wasn’t in the room and Shiro was...gone—to support him? His ideas weren’t the best! He’d been told that _many_ times before, thank you very much.

But, then again...maybe this was his moment.

“We move on like you said,” Lance said as he looked back over to Allura’s eyes. “More team bonding, maybe? I know we can’t form Voltron, but connecting with each other and our Lions should remain a priority, right? And, um... maybe instead of waiting for people to come to us for help, we go to them. To, y’know, add more and more people to our alliance and make sure that Haggar doesn’t try to colonize any more planets.”

When he peeled his attention away from Allura, he saw Coran had a screen open in front of him. He used a stylist to jot a few things down before he mumbled something to Allura. Allura kept her eyes on Lance, but she nodded her head at whatever Coran had asked. His skin itched underneath her gaze. 

“Good idea,” Pidge said, catching his ears. He looked down at her and offered a small smile. “But what about Keith? Do you guys really think he’s going to let go that easily?”

His smile easily morphed into a frown. If he were to be honest, he had no idea how he’d get Keith to follow through with their small plan. Keith was Shiro’s right hand—maybe he’d want to lead the team, instead of letting Allura or seemingly Lance take over. He clenched his fists, ignoring the spark of annoyance over the hypothetical scenario.

“Aren’t you guys close? Maybe you could talk to him.” Lance asked, voice coming out small.

Pidge gave him a look mixed with unease and confusion. “Yeah...” she said as she glanced over to Hunk. “You know how I am with people, though. I’d probably just make him feel worse by trying.”

That...was probably true.

“I mean…I guess I can try to talk to him,” Lance offered after a moment of quiet.

He wrapped his arms around his chest, glaring down at the floor. He’d rather him try than Pidge, anyway—even if he knew the confrontation would end with an explosive argument. His heart dropped into the pit of his stomach at the thought. He didn’t want to make Keith feel bad, he...had never wanted to make Keith feel bad to begin with. Before it was something along the lines of a game, Keith knew that...right?

“If I come back with a black eye, one of you guys have to try it instead,” he joked, but it fell flat. He probably wouldn’t have laughed, either.

After clearing his throat, Lance brought his arm up and then jabbed his thumb toward the doors behind him as a silent goodbye. Something must have shown in his eyes because Pidge offered him a pitying smile, which really only made him feel worse. Thankfully Hunk gave him a reassuring nod.

Lance nodded back, squaring his shoulders, and left the room in search for Keith.

As he walked away, he heard mumbles from Pidge, something about her saying she’s going to go back to work on ‘the device’—something about their Super-Secret Project the two had been hiding from Lance and the rest of the team—and Hunk wished her luck. After the door slid shut behind him, a heavy sigh crawled from his lips. He let his shoulders lax and he closed his eyes.

His limbs were growing heavy, either with exhaustion or sadness or both, but he shoved the feelings aside. There wasn’t time for him to get into his feelings. He had a job to do.

For the next thirty minutes, Lance searched the Castle, but his attempts were futile and the thought only dragged him down further. Keith wasn’t on the training deck, in his bedroom, or even in the Red Lion’s den. He could almost feel the Red Lion’s confused and worried flicker of fire in the back of his head, but Lance shook it off. It almost seemed like Keith didn’t want to be found.

 _Well that’s just too bad,_ Lance thought to himself as he listened to the echoes of his footsteps in one of the open corridors of the ship, _he can’t stay in hiding forever_.

After a few more paces, Lance was left at somewhat of a dead-end. There’s a single room at the end of the corridor which leads to the observation deck. He stopped in his tracks as his eyes fell over the familiar mental doors, chest clenching tightly.

Shiro used to go there to think when the sky got too heavy on his shoulders. Lance had found him on more than one occasion and they never said much, what with Lance being too nervous to actually say anything around him that didn’t make him out to be a fool, but he liked to think that Shiro had enjoyed the company on a few occasions. He had looked brighter when Lance left the room, anyway.

Something in the back of his head, warm like a used hearth, told him that in there, he’d discover what he was looking for.

So Lance took in a breath, choked a bit from inhaling too hard, and then stepped through the doorway. After the door slid shut behind him, his eyes trailed across the large windows, taking in the mass of stars and purple space dust.

He found Keith sitting alone, tense arms securing his legs folded flush against his chest. He stared out into space, thick brows pressed low on his face. A frown of similar intensity curled at the corners of his mouth. In the darkness, the contours of his cheeks were coated with shadows and his mop of black hair fell over his brows in gentle waves, hiding his eyes. It was too dark to see what emotion pooled inside the murky gray-blues, but the heavy atmosphere surrounding him made it hard to breathe, his despair evident.

Lance’s shoulders fell along with his light expression as Keith’s thumb swept across his knuckle, aimless other than for his own comfort.

That was one of the few things Lance had picked up about him. Sure, the guy was still a closed book—he knew more about Coran than Keith (but then again, Coran _loved_ to overshare)— but after spending months alongside him on a ship in deep space, small parts of the walls Keith had built up oh-so-carefully came crumbling, having worn down with time. It might have been a weird thing Lance prided himself on knowing, but strangely, he didn’t care. Did Pidge or Hunk know Keith stimmed like he did? Probably not.

 _Hopefully not_ , Lance thought selfishly.

He leaned back against the automatic doors, hoping that they didn’t shift open upon contact; it would be a disaster to catch Keith’s attention by falling backward on his ass. Luckily for him and his ass, the doors stayed firmly shut.

Lance wondered if Keith heard him enter the room. His footsteps were usually noisy, at least that’s what Veronica and Rachel used to always tell him, and Lance knew his sneakers were a little bit squeaky when he walked… but Keith hadn’t lifted his head. Either the guy was ignoring Lance or he just... hadn’t noticed him.

He wasn’t sure which he’d prefer.

Despite knowing the team had a point, there was no easy way to deal with the loss of someone important. Losing family wasn’t easy. His father had died a few weeks before he and Rachel were born, and... well, it _sucked_. He still held the bitterness which curled deep within him at the reminder—the sadness had left his system long ago, but the weird detachment, like a missing puzzle piece, still lingered in his heart. The feeling became easier to tame when his mamá would envelop him in her warm embrace, or when Marco and Luis watched his favorite cartoons with him, or even when Rachel and Veronica flipped through their books and magazines and sat in silence as Lance played games on an old hand-held device. Being near his family... it made everything easier.

So what did he do when Keith didn’t have that to fall back on?

Pressing his lips into a thin line, a wave of determination surged through Lance’s body, igniting a flame in his chest that was unfamiliar to him. He had an idea before he even got a coherent thought through his head; if Keith didn’t have anything— _anyone_ — to fall back on, Lance would shove his foot in the door of Keith’s life and become that person. Easy-peasy.

…Was that weird? Keith was his... rival, always feeling always out of reach, always feeling so high above Lance’s grasp, but... maybe it didn’t have to be like that anymore. Maybe this time, Lance could bring him down to Earth with the rest of the Paladins and hold on to Keith so tight so he wouldn’t drift away again.

Huh.

Is this what he wanted all along? The weird feeling in his chest came back again, more welcome than the homesickness rooted deeply in his veins. He knew the feeling all too well, the pleasant rumbles and the yearning to be noticed, the lack of resentment— those were friendship feelings. What did Pidge call it, a squish?

 _Huh_.

He shook the thought away and brushed back the bangs that had fallen into his eyes. Those were thoughts for another time, Lance had a mission to take care of. After taking a deep breath, he clenched his hands into taut fists at his sides, and then he opened his mouth to speak.

“Whatever you’re going to say, don’t.”

Lance promptly shut his mouth. His brows twitched low and then he pushed his body off of the door, taking a moment to stabilize himself before he ambled over to the weird Altean pillar that stuck out of the wall. Keith didn’t turn his head to face Lance, but he could see the way his shoulders stiffened as he approached him.

“You know,” Lance drawled out, stuffing his hands into his jacket’s pockets and raising an eyebrow. He peeled his eyes away from Keith to look out the thick window into space. He stared at the black ink for a moment, getting lost and letting his pause linger a little too long— long enough for Keith to turn his head to Lance. A small smile pulled on his lips, heart not necessarily in it at the attention. Lance then peeled his gaze from the increasingly-dull-with-time view to meet Keith’s eyes. “That’s not a very nice thing to say to company,” Lance finished anticlimactically.

Keith scoffed, but Lance swore his lips tugged up into a small smile. “It’s a good thing I didn’t invite you here, then,” Keith replied, dry.

Lance barked out a laugh at that, a little pitchy and strained, but he flopped down to the floor next to Keith regardless of his attitude. Keith shuffled in his spot on the metal floors and squeezed his legs closer to him. Silence fell over the two, thick.

That was the time for Lance to have asked _are you okay?_

But instead, Keith was the one who broke the substantial silence by asking in that low, scratchy voice of his, “Did you need something from me?”

Did he need something. He rolled the words around in his head. It was loaded question, really—Lance would’ve preferred an insult, or maybe even more bitterness from Keith— a simple, ‘ _go away, Lance_ ’— but all Keith uttered was a question that Lance wasn’t sure he had the right answer to.

A harsh feeling tugged in his chest, urging him to say ‘ _yes’._ Lance had so many questions, so many concerns and worries that filled him to the brim, but something inside him told Lance that Keith was looking for the same answers as well.

So, Lance let out a small sigh. His shoulders fell and he allowed himself to slouch forward as he placed his chin in his palm. Keith seemed to study his movements, lips curling downward. “Nah,” Lance replied in a breath. He looked over to Keith and met his gaze. A beat of silence, too much for Lance to handle again, so he added, “I don’t need anything. What about you, though?”

As Keith watched, his face twisted into something weird like he didn’t understand what Lance asked of him. His brows twitched as his gaze flicked between his eyes. Even with the awkwardness that surrounded their prolonged eye contact, Lance didn’t tear his eyes away.

“What?” Keith asked, finally.

Lance scooted so his body faced Keith’s. He sat up a little straighter. “Do you need anything,” he repeated, tilting his head to the side. Keith opened his mouth and then closed it, so Lance continued, “...Like, I dunno, water? Or... someone to talk to? Or— or, _maybe_ we can go to the training deck and you can beat me up, get everything out of your system.” There’s a quiet pause. “Uh. That’s a joke, by the way. I won’t be your punching bag, but I can find one, uh, if that’s what you want.”

“You’re... offering to spar with me?” Keith questioned, eyes squinting as he stared at Lance. “You hate training.”

A huff escaped Lance’s lips. He crossed his arms over his chest, pulling his gaze away from Keith. Bitterness prickled in his chest. For some reason, it bothered Lance that Keith would just call him out like that. He was _trying_ to be a good friend! Lance found himself frowning. Maybe Keith didn’t even consider him a friend.

“Yeah,” he muttered back, “well, maybe I hate seeing you all _ugh_ more. We don’t have to train if you don’t want, but it’d be crappy of me to just let you sit here. I don’t know how you’re feeling about everything that’s going down, but… that doesn’t mean you have to be alone.”

Lance pressed his lips together into a line and glared at the floor like he was trying to cut through the metal panels with his non-existent laser eyes. It took a second, but Keith’s arms dropped from his hug around his legs. He let his knees hit the floor before he crossed his legs, hands pressed against the fabric of his black sweatpants' joggers Hunk had bought for him at the Space Mall.

Lance glanced back at him at the movement, his eyes widening once they met Keith’s face. It twisted into something awkward, and instead of looking back at Lance, he pouted toward the floor. He startled when Keith swiveled his head in his direction to study him again. His unkempt brows shadowed his eyes, alongside his heavy bangs.

Maybe next time they went out to the Space Mall, Lance would buy him a scrunchie. A purple one, to bring out the color of his eyes. He needed more color in his wardrobe.

“You… don’t have to do this.” Keith said quietly.

Lance blinked. He almost wanted to laugh at the tight confusion of his voice—of course, Lance didn’t have to sit there with Keith while he brooded to death, but... he wanted to. Huh. He _wanted_ to.

“Well, _duh,_ ” Lance responded with a small shrug. Keith gave him a funny, disbelieving look, and Lance didn’t even try to conceal the groan that slipped from his mouth. “Dude. If I didn’t want to sit here with you, trust me, I wouldn’t even _try._ But…we’re friends—whether you like it or not, Mullet. So that means if you need to cry, I’ll be the shoulder, or _whatever_ the stupid saying is.”

Keith blinked at him again, looking like he wanted to argue. “I... am not going to cry.” He settled on after a beat.

“You can, though.”

“But I don’t want to.”

“Yeah, but if you _need_ to,” Lance pressed, “you can. I won’t judge. I mean, I might judge a little, especially if you’re an ugly crier like I am, but I won’t be vocal about it.”

A small laugh bubbled from Keith’s lips. He shook his head, seemingly exasperated from Lance’s insistence, but the smile that slowly pulled at his mouth assured Lance otherwise. Lance shifted his body to face the window once again, shoulder inches from Keith’s own.

“How kind,” Keith mumbled. He leaned his shoulders back against the metal pillar behind him, face gently illuminated with the turquoise emergency lights of the castle. His eyes rimmed with red and his cheeked glistened with dried tear tracts, but Lance pretended he didn’t notice. He leaned back as well and Keith breathed out a small breath. “This really sucks,” he added, softer. Like he was offering an olive branch.

Lance hummed, nodding slowly. “Yeah, it does.”

There wasn’t any use for lying to Keith—anyone could see that losing Shiro took a heavy toll on the team. Lance just wondered how the heck Keith hadn’t lost his mind already. He'd only just gotten his brother back only a few months ago, and now...

“The Black Lion refuses to open up to any of us,” Keith added, voice taking a darker pitch. Lance inhaled a deep breath, eyes fluttering closed. “So, until we figure out what their problem is, we’re one lion down. We can’t form Voltron, which means more casualties in battle, which means more people we try to save die. Fewer planets will be freed from the Galra’s grasp and if we can’t ever figure out what happened to Shiro, then... we’re fucked. I—I mean, if he _died_ , then his body should’ve still been there. So, say we’re looking at all possibilities—the Galra could have a weird teleportation device, directly linked to the Black Lion. Or—or, maybe he was just _ejected_ out into space and froze to death, and he crystallized and _shattered_ and now bits and pieces of him float out in the abyss and all of this searching we’ve been doing has been nothing but a big waste of time.”

Lance didn’t spare him a glance. “Well aren’t you all sunshine and happiness.”

Keith huffed a ghost of a laugh and he nudged Lance with his elbow. Quiet fell over the two again, but this time it felt different. Lance wasn’t sure what he could say to Keith in a moment like this, he basically voiced every fear Lance had, and then _more_ —like, seriously, could people _actually_ turn into a crystal out in space? That seemed like it’d be from some shitty horror film.

“What are we going to do, Lance?” _What are we going to do without Shiro?_

Another heavy question from Keith, another answer Lance couldn’t offer.

“I don't know, man,” he replied with a sigh, shoulders sagging. “We don’t have to worry about that right now, though— we can save it for tomorrow.”

This time, Keith actually did laugh, incredulous and sour. Something cold stuck deep in Lance’s chest like he swallowed an ice cube and it got stuck halfway down to his stomach. “Tomorrow?” he asked flatly, voice taking that pitch of irritation that was only reserved for Lance. It wasn’t as relieving to hear as Lance had thought it would be. “And what if we don’t _have_ tomorrow?”

Lance rolled his eyes. “And they call _me_ the dramatic one,” he grumbled as his head lolled to the side. He met Keith’s eyes and raised a lethargic eyebrow upon seeing the scowl across his face. “Listen, no offense dude, but for once in your life, pull the stick out of your ass. Everything is shitty right now, and _no one_ knows what to do. Things are changing, and it _sucks,_ but...”

Keith stared at him coldly. “But?” he pressed.

Lance shrugged weakly. “Sometimes you have to take it easy,” he said, eyes moving from Keith’s and back toward the window. Keith’s gaze remained on his face, burning holes into his skin. “You lost your brother, Keith. Take some time to feel that.”

As Keith shot up from the floor like a bullet, Lance winced. Great. His wording probably...wasn’t the best. Looking to Keith and seeing his hands clenched into fists, seeing how he glared down at Lance, he knew that he couldn’t take it back. Lance was now on damage control. _Great._

“ _'Take some time to feel that’_ ?” Keith repeated, voice wavering as he spit his acidic words. Lance looked up at him before he too moved to his feet so he could face Keith’s eyes head-on. His arms shook at his side, violent as his tone of voice. “I’ve been—I’ve been feeling _nothing_ but his loss since he left for the Kerberos mission two years ago! How the hell would _you_ know how I’m feeling? You...you _hate_ me. I still don’t even get why you’re here. If it’s to make me feel better, then—congratulations! I feel fuckin’ _peachy!_ So, thanks a lot!”

Quiet.

Keith clenched his jaw, looking ready for a rebuttal from Lance. In his eyes, there was an emotion akin to guilt—maybe hurt, too. Lance’s tongue brushed over his teeth, his words melting over him like warm honey. It would’ve stung if their relationship were different, but maybe this anger was all Keith knew— the anticipation for a fight was familiar. Lance wasn’t afraid to admit that; the best term to describe their friendship, or their lack of one it seems, would be jagged. Rocky.

Nonexistent worked too, he distantly thought—but he couldn’t do that anymore. He didn’t want to. 

So Lance grabbed the back of Keith’s head, his fingers pressing through his thick black hair to gently touch his scalp. Keith flinched, stony face shifting, revealing a hint of childlike apprehension behind the cracks in his composure. The look broke something inside of Lance’s chest and it only forced Lance to pull him into his orbit faster.

Keith stiffened underneath Lance’s palms, one on the back of his head and one pressed between his shoulder blades. At first, Lance thought Keith would shove him away and storm out of the room—he seemed even more tense from the physical comfort than he had when he was yelling at Lance moments before—but, after a moment, his shoulders drooped.

His arms dangled at his sides.

His forehead pressed into Lance’s collarbone.

The universe shifted beneath their feet.

After a shuddering breath and a few sniffles, Lance's shirt grew a wet patch near his collar. Keith’s shoulders trembled against Lance’s arm, and, oh— _oh,_ Keith was crying. On his shoulder. Should Lance have anticipated this? He blinked once, and then twice, eyes slowly widening with panic.

He had to think quickly, but way Keith shook beneath his hands fizzled out any coherency in his head. His chest stung, slowly growing into another steady ache as Keith trembled against him. Seeing Keith come crashing down was by far one of the most heartbreaking things he had ever seen. Lance breathed out a sigh and blinked faster as his own eyes glossed over with tears.

Hopefully bullshitting his way through comforting Keith wouldn’t end up with him hurting more.

“I’m... not gonna tell you that it’s okay,” Lance whispered, and then winced at his own words.

Okay, bad start. His throat squeezed tight around a lump that gradually formed as Keith continued to shed silent tears. He could fix this, he just…had to be honest. Keith vaulted honesty, right? Right. He could do this.

Lance swallowed, and then continued, “Uh, because… because it’s _not_ okay. And I’m so, so sorry, Keith. I'm so sorry that this happened to you not once, but twice, and I just…” he breathed out a sigh. “You know that I’m here… right? And so is everyone else, and—and we really _care_ about you, so...you’re not going to be alone this time.”

It must have been the right thing to say because Keith’s arms moved to clutch Lance’s back. His blunt fingernails gripped the back of Lance’s shirt, no doubt stretching the fabric from its seams, but Lance didn't care. He couldn’t, not when Keith's shoulders quaked with vigor, and his cries gradually grew into loud sobs.

Seeing Keith let the last bit of his walls crumble down like that was beautiful in its own tragic way—but maybe beautiful wasn’t the best word. It was... enchanting. Captivating, really. Keith opened up the cover of his book, and Lance held him carefully in his arms as he flipped through the pages. Distantly, Lance realized he wished it was under better circumstances.

His free hand spread against Keith’s back, rubbing gentle circles as his mamá had always done to him. With every movement, Keith’s body tensed and then melted underneath his touch. Was he touch starved or repulsed? Wasn’t it possible to be both? Lance found himself frowning—he added hugs to the mental lists of things Keith deserved, going right underneath a best friend.

It took some time, but Keith’s tears eventually stopped falling. He slumped into Lance’s grasp, arms loose around the frame of the other, but Keith didn’t pull from the embrace right away. He… actually seemed to relish in the bubble they had created together.

Lance continued to rub his back, unable to wipe away the worry that pinched his face.

“Sorry for springing that on you,” Keith mumbled into Lance’s collarbone. The warmth of his breath sent chills down Lance’s spine and he swallowed thickly. Keith lifted his head and then he stepped away from Lance, bubbling popping. Keith brought his thumb up to swipe underneath his eyes. “I’m just really... tired.”

Lance nodded. That was one word for it, at least.

“There’s no need to apologize, dude,” he assured with a tilt of his lips. Keith’s hair covered his eyes and he sniffled once more. Lance deflated. “I meant what I said before. I know that we aren’t exactly the best of friends, but...I know how hard it is to be separated from family. Everyone here knows, Keith.”

Keith’s head hung lower. “I know. I shouldn’t— it’s been _weeks._ Allura was right, we have to move forward as a team, and try to figure out our next steps—”

“No, that’s—not what I meant,” Lance interrupted. He reached out and pressed his hand Keith’s shoulder. His fingers dug into the skin, not hard enough to bruise but hard enough to catch Keith’s attention. He looked up to Lance, eyes puffy and still red from his crying, but at least he held the eye contact. Lance swallowed again. “I’m telling you that Voltron is your family, too, and we’re always going to be by your side. We’re all hurting but—we all…” His face twists into something weird. “We all love you, too.”

The murky gray-blue eyes Keith held widened a fraction. For a moment, something quiet flashed inside of them—something somber, a flare of wonder that sat inside of Lance uncomfortably. Had he crossed a line with what he had said? No… no, the look Keith gave him would’ve been different… right?

“Thank you,” Keith said suddenly, voice cracking with the strain from his crying. Lance blinked, focusing his attention back to the boy in front of him. Keith managed a weak smile, tight-lipped and awkward, but so _him_ that Lance couldn’t not appreciate it. Keith crossed his arms over his chest in that defensive way he did and then added, “And, uh...I am sorry, though. I shouldn’t have yelled at you before. I know we don’t really hate each other, so, uh, yeah. Thanks...for being a friend.”

Lance’s lips twisted up into a grin. Keith looked as if he didn’t know what to do with that.

“Hey, if I can convince Pidge to hook up her laptop in the common room, would you wanna watch a movie with us?” Lance asked before he could even think about it. Something warm rushed over him from his own question, quietly pleased at his question.

Keith hesitated. “I actually need to shower…” he answered, his eyes flicked away from Lance’s face, toward the window on his right, before looking back to Lance. Lance deflated a little, which Keith seemed to have noticed because his eyes widened with something akin to alarm before he hastily added, “Uh, but, yeah! How about—is after dinner okay?”

Lance brightened, and Keith held his head up a little higher. His lips curled upward, hinting at a smile.

“Yeah! No take-backs!” He said, earning a small huff from Keith. He nodded his head toward the front of the room before turning on his feet. He strolled toward the exit, hands stuffed into his pockets, trusting Keith to follow after him. “I’m serious, Kogane! We’re watching that movie and having more bonding time. I’m gonna best friend you _so_ hard.”

The door shifted open. When Keith didn’t reply, a frown took Lance’s face and looked over his shoulder and met Keith’s face. Keith stood in the same spot as before, eyes round as he stared at Lance. He didn’t move forward, seemingly frozen in his spot.

“Are you coming or what, Mullet?” Lance asked as he raised an eyebrow, voice taking its characteristically unimpressed tone.

Keith blinked. Lance’s taunt must have kicked him back into action, because he offered Lance a quick, “yeah, I’m coming,” before he scrambled toward him, footsteps falling in line with Lance’s own as they made their way down one of the many corridors in the Castle of Lions.

His angsty tension from the star deck left the atmosphere as soon as the doors swished shut behind them. The conversations they had left in the room were more than welcome to stay there for the time being—Lance knew the last thing Keith needed was to wallow. They’d come back to the topic eventually, but for now, Lance decided to play to light and breezy.

As he walked down the hallway, he found that both he and Keith easily morphed into a better version of their normal selves, which really just meant bickering over small things that held no weight. Movie genres, specifically (Lance loved action and romantic comedy films, Keith had a thing for thrillers, but he did agree that while _The Proposal_ with Ryan Reynolds and Sandra Bullock was a good movie, it would’ve been more interesting if Margaret Tate weren’t a white Canadian).

 _Heated arguments are a thing of the past_ , Lance thought with an easy smile across his face, _I can totally become Keith’s best friend, easy peasy._

Eventually, Keith and he stopped walking in the middle of the hallway. Keith, with a raised eyebrow and an amused look in his eyes, listened to Lance ramble on and on about his favorite movies, none of which Keith had ever seen (which was a crime, really). After a moment, though, Lance cut off his sentence and looked at their surroundings with a small pout.

“What?” Keith asked, tilting his head to the side.

Lance turned his attention back to Keith. “We stopped walking.”

“Well, yeah? I have to shower, but you weren’t finished with—” Keith gestured at him vaguely as he spoke. “...I wasn’t just going to tell you to shut up and leave.”

Lance blinked once more before a grin pulled at his lips. Look at Keith, being _thoughtful_. Their friendship was already having positive outcomes, _sweet._ “Don’t let me hold you, go on ahead.” Lance waved him off. “Plus, I can finish telling you about the masterpiece titled _Die Hard_ at dinner. Oh— _and_ while we watch a movie afterward!”

Keith raised a skeptical brow. “You’re going to tell me about _Die Hard_ while we watch a totally separate movie? Isn’t that kind of impractical?”

Lance scoffed. “I was trying to keep you on your toes, Mullet—making sure you don’t forget about our absolutely required movie night with the rest of the squad,” Lance assured, smile morphing into a smirk as Keith rolled his eyes so hard his eyelids fluttered. “Hey, you promised! I’ll come to hunt you down if you don’t show up, don’t think I won’t!”

“I wouldn’t dream of missing out on whatever movies Pidge has saved on her laptop,” Keith promised. Lance snorted at the dramatics, and Keith looked as if he were about to spin on his heel and give Lance a curt wave when he hesitated. His body turned halfway toward the hallway in front of Lance that went deeper into the castle. “But… yeah, I’ll be there, so...don’t waste your energy by looking for me.” Keith added, voice taking a softer edge than it had before.

There’s a quick pause that wedged its way between them. Lance’s smirk morphed into something shy and his brows twitch. If he was going to be honest, he was...kind of excited to hang out with Keith. You know, _amicably_.

Keith did a double-take at the sight, however, and the confused expression splattered across his face was enough for Lance to pull him back into a quick hug. It’s nothing like the hug they shared before, instead, Lance patted his back as he would do to a dog. He wondered if it was comforting or just plain awkward. Even if it was the latter, Lance didn’t care. There was something warm about Keith’s hugs.

“You better be, Mullet,” Lance said as he pulled away. Keith, stunned, only nodded his head dumbly. Lance shook his head, chuckles spilling from his lips at the weird look across his face. “I hope things start getting easier for you soon,” Lance added, tone as delicate as his words.

It seemed to snap Keith back into reality because his brows knit together above his crooked nose. He opened his mouth to say something, but he only managed a weak huff. “You’re so— _moody_ ,” Keith seemed to settle on, his voice cracking halfway through. Lance raised an eyebrow—that was  _rich,_ coming from Keith Mullet Kogane himself.  “A simple ‘okay’ would’ve worked, stop being _nice_.”

Lance barked out a laugh and gave Keith’s shoulders a gentle shove. “Shut up and shower; you smell bad. Don’t you have to keep that hair nice and pristine, Mullet? _Go._ ”

Keith stumbled backward a bit and the tiny curl to his lips stretched further. He turned his back to Lance and offered a small wave without even looking back. “Whatever, _Moody_ ,” he called back as he glanced over his shoulder. The glare in his eyes was borderline mischievous. Surprisingly, the tilt of his lips hadn’t faded and his eyes crinkled at the outer corners; a newfound sight for Lance.

For a few minutes after Keith disappeared around the corner, Lance stood in the hallway, his own grin refusing to wipe from his lips. He shook off the pleasant shock from the hypocritical nickname Keith gave him and turned on his heel to make his way down the long corridor in hopes of finding Pidge’s makeshift office. He knew he would have to beg on his hands and knees like the shameless man he was for the team to have a movie night, especially since both Pidge and Hunk were probably shoving themselves on their Super-Secret Project they both excitedly refused to share details on.

A part of him feigned annoyance at the fact his one best buddy wouldn’t tell him anything, but Lance never could keep up with the two, anyway. He was just glad that they were growing closer together, it’d give Lance a lot more room to pull Keith into the mix, just as they’d planned. Soon enough, their friendships’ would grow stronger, and they’d tune to the significant loss.

Another sigh fell from Lance’s lips as he stuffed his hands into his jacket pockets. He was tired, emotions still running high despite the fact he tried to shove them onto the back burner, but the drumming inside of his chest left him almost giddy.

It’d take some time, but he knew they’d be able to adjust. Things really were changing—and yeah, some of it really sucked, Lance thought to himself, but he hoped some of it would be really good, too.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO YOU MADE IT DOWN HERE!
> 
> First off, let me start by saying thank you. Not everyone clicks on the first update of a new fic for a dying fandom, so you doing that? Really cool. Thanks. I love you.
> 
> Secondly, the whole reason I wrote this prologue was to establish their friendship. There’s so much going on in the story and there isn’t enough time to have slow burn enemies to friends to lovers thing. So,,, you get friends to enemies to lovers :) HAHA ANYWAY-
> 
> Lastly, I just wanted to say this before everything ends. Fuck Voltron. Alexa, play Rolling in the Deep, because we could’ve had it all. 
> 
> Anyway. Thank you so much for reading! Comments and reviews are appreciated!!
> 
> \- Cato  
>  
> 
> [tumblr](https://ghozting.tumblr.com) | [twitter](https://twitter.com/hoktril)
> 
>  
> 
> EDIT: [CHECK OUT THIS AMAZING PIECE OF ART DRAWN FOR THIS CHAPTER](https://amestesia.tumblr.com/post/182859747905/i-read-ghozting-fic-you-hold-yourself-against)


	2. i. The Champion's Defeat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The beginning of an adventure has to start somewhere. For Lance, it's when he dies.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Potential Triggers in This Chapter:
> 
> \- descriptions of suffocating  
> \- anxiety attacks

 

>>> 

 

 

032520XX 

 

It’s a strange feeling that fills his entire six-foot body to the brim, the feeling of homesickness. The word’s the funniest to Lance, but mostly because he seems to be able to make jokes about anything if he tries hard enough. He never knew that the longing to go home could make him physically ill. Weird, right? He never knew that missing the familiarity of his bright-eyed niblings and the warmth of the Cuban sun could make his stomach churn, violent and aggressive as the ocean waves could be. He never knew that he’d sometimes rather forget them than live with the endless aching, the lack of sleep, the nightmares where Lance would be too aware for them to even  _feel_ like dreams... 

 _You love them; that’s why you’re still here, stupid._  

He huffs out a scoff at his own thought, adjusting the plasma sniper rifle in his grip, hitting the bruise that seems to forever stain his trapezius muscle. He didn’t flinch at the contact, hadn’t in a while, but he did try to find a more comfortable position on the training room floor, stomach shifting against the raised tile circle he lies prone over. Unbeknownst to most, the recoil pad didn’t do much to help the bruising. 

But it’s something that each Paladin has—a smidgen of hurt from the tools they use when they tried their hardest to take the hurt away from others. Pidge has it in her knees and ankles from rough landings with her grappling hook, Hunk’s got aching arms and pulled muscles from his machine gun. Keith, with his  _useless_ Bayard design—he’s heard Keith bitch about it enough that it’s actually kind of funny—is probably going to get arthritis in his wrists from the strain. So... Lance deals with the bruised collarbone, the dark purple splotches painting his tawny brown skin. 

Everyone else deals with it. It isn't a big deal anymore. 

Across the training deck—approximately eighty-five meters away according to his holographic scope, are his targets. Unlike Earth shooting targets shaped like people, Altean’s looked more traditional—peaceful, almost as if he were an archer instead of a gunman. They stand, hexagonal with turquoise coils on the inside marking separate sections. In the dead center is pink hexagon with a crosshair in the middle, marking bullseye. 

Taking a steady breath, Lance zeroes in on the first of the three targets. 

The previous shots he took had disappeared after a few moments, wiping away with time. Knowing all of the weird things that had happened and continue to happen to him after his beautiful Blue Lion brought him into space, he’s decided that the only possible answer for the targets not melting underneath his laser blasts was most definitely magic—something he’s starting to grow less wary of the longer he spends in the Castle of Lions. 

His finger brushes the trigger, eyes narrowing before he presses down with more force. The shot fires a laser bullet, zapping through the air toward the target on the opposite side of the room. His Bayard jerks back with vigor, hitting his shoulder and earning a huff out of Lance. He doesn’t even have to check through his scope to know that he hit it dead-center; the entire target lights up and chimes a pleasant tune like, _thanks for shooting me dead! Awesome job! Keep up the great work!_  

Lance grins, a small celebration for himself, unlike the loud hollers he did months ago when Voltron was a new thing to him. Not to be cocky or anything, but getting a bullseye isn’t all that rare for him— Lance knows he’s a good shot, and he knows that his friends know it, too. It’s one of the few impressive skills he had that he can actually brag about without coming off as arrogant or snobby. 

Shiro had told him to be proud of the things he’s skilled at, so Lance  _was_. Something heavy presses into him at the memory of a fond smile, cool brown eyes and a firm hand pressed against his bruised shoulder. Praise from someone he admired, someone he loved like an older brother, or maybe even a father— 

Lance shakes his head. He shoves down the tightness in his throat and wipes the memory out of his brain. Adjusting his grip on his Bayard, he shifts on the floor to a better angle. A deep breath. He then aims his sniper rifle toward the second target. 

Another shot, another chime. 

He doesn’t smile this time, instead, he simply moves on to the next target. 

It’s probably early enough in the morning for Lance to shower and slink back into his room before anyone comes looking for him for breakfast. Keith wakes up at ungodly hours to get in his early-morning yoga and then, if he feels up to it, maybe get kicked around by a training droid. Lance decides that he should wrap up and scurry away before he runs into the other. Keith’s starting to get to know Lance all too well—knowing when the smudges underneath his eyes are from weird dreams and how his cheeks jump when he clenches his teeth after being asked about them. 

It’s… annoying. Maybe that isn’t the best way to describe the weird feeling he gets when Keith displays concern for him, but it’s all he has. The training helps Lance get his mind off of the things that were going on in his life—it’s one of the few things about Keith he’s starting to understand, too. 

Lance readies himself to aim and fires his last shot of the night when the doors behind him open with a loud hiss. The sound echoes in the chamber, forcing a sharp gasp from Lance. He shoots up to his feet, Bayard easily morphing into a pistol as it picks up on the surge of fear that spikes through him from the intruding sound. 

His eyes meet Hunk, who looks as if he'd just rolled out of the comfort of his bed until Lance had pointed his gun at him. He throws his hands up in the air, brown eyes widening a fraction when their gazes meet. A beat of silence, a deep breath, and then Lance looks down at his gun with a frown curling on his face. Maybe the lack of sleep is getting to him. When had he become so skittish? 

“Please don’t shoot! I have a wife and three kids!” Hunk begs, tone dripping with buttery sarcasm as Lance’s Bayard takes its safety form with a flash of light. Lance offers a weak smile as an apology as the high leveled floor slowly lowers down to the ground. 

“Your rock wife and pebble children will be fine without you,” Lance assures as he runs the back of his neck. He avoids Hunk’s eyes until he can't, which results in him hastily adding a quick, “Sorry about that, man. These doors are freaking loud.” 

Hunk opens his mouth, looking ready to say something snarky before he must decide against it. Lance cocks an eyebrow as his friend’s eyes flick to different parts of his face as if he were studying him for a realistic portrait (which, would be cool, but Hunk isn’t really an artist... that was more of Shiro’s and Keith’s thing). His fingers twitch around his Bayard as Hunk’s brows furrow, concern easing its way into his gaze. 

“How long have you been here?” Hunk asks, tilting his head to the side. One of his hands moves to his left wrist, unwrapping the orange ribbon he must have tied there before he moves to bring it up to his face. Lance watches him tie it around his forehead, pushing the strands of wavy hair out of his eyes. “You look tired,” Hunk adds, not even trying for subtlety. 

Lance sighs, shoulders slumping. Stupid best friends knowing  _everything_ about him. How had he lost track of time so easily? Why didn't Keith shown up and scared him out of the training room with another offer for Lance to join his yoga session? 

“Did you have another one of those dreams?” Hunk presses, snapping his attention back to reality. 

Lance nods his head—there’s no reason for him to lie about it, especially with the mind-meld training they have planned for after breakfast. It would come out eventually, and the dreams are technically common knowledge amongst his friends—but Hunk’s the only one who knows the depth of them. Hunk knows him better than most, and even though Lance does  _try_  to keep some things locked away, those dreams...he can’t wrap his head around them. 

He had thought about asking Pidge when they became a regular occurrence, but for some reason, he couldn’t find it in him. Sure, his lack of sleep aggravated him, making him snappier and  _jumpier_ , but he knows that Pidge didn’t sleep well, either. He doesn’t want to add more problems to the list of things she has to work on—she and Hunk are already neck deep in their Super-Secret Project Lance has been  _not_ hearing about for months. 

So, instead, he had turned to Hunk. Which...probably wasn’t the best idea, considering Hunk worked just as hard as if—not harder than—Pidge did. 

 _But he also manages to get a full night's sleep_ , a part of Lance’s brain argues unhelpfully. 

The dreams usually started with him blinking into awareness, usually in a fixed location like the Galaxy Garrison or Varadero Beach. They played out like a memory at first—it took some time for Lance to notice that he could do what he wanted, say what he desired, and earn different results each time. The first time he had realized that he was actually present in the dreams was when he woke up on the soft couch in his house’s living room. 

Lance had shot up, gasping for air as his eyes darted around the room. His mamá had heard the sound and rushed in from her office, eyes wide and lips pressed into a tight-lipped frown, mumbling, “ _Ay,_ _nene_ _, ¿tuviste una pesadilla?_ ” which immediately brought him to tears. His mamá enveloped him in a hug, her touch cold and fizzy like carbonated bubbles against his skin. 

It had shocked him out of his sleep. 

Lance shakes his head again, letting his bangs fall against his lashes. The corners of Hunk’s lips twitch down, frown almost making Lance feel bad for having the dreams in the first place. He hates it when Hunk looks at him like that. He chooses to ignore the tightness of his chest, and the almost suffocating guilt settles within him unevenly. 

“Yeah...” Lance says as he rolls his right shoulder back, listening to the pop before he shuffles his feet on the white tile. “It’s okay, though—I guess I was just a little... weirded out by it, more than anything. Target practice helps keep my mind occupied, so don’t worry too much, buddy.” 

Hunk opens his arms, a silent invitation which has Lance clambering forward into a tight hug.  

“I’ll always worry about you, man,” Hunk reminds as he presses a kiss to his forehead. Lance nearly melts underneath the platonic affection. “But I think you’ve been hanging around Keith too much; seeing you all hyper-focused when you do your personal training is  _weird_.” 

Lance scoffs and pulls away from Hunk’s grasp just as quickly as he entered it. 

“Am not!” He says back, crossing his arms over his chest. Hunk raises an eyebrow. Lance drops his arms. “Whatever,” He huffs. 

Chuckling, Hunk shakes his head, expression holding something that looks too smug for Lance to feel comfortable with. His eyes move away from Lance’s, out toward the training deck, and he raises an eyebrow, smugness morphing into something curious. 

“Dang it, did Keith already hit the showers?” He asks as he turns his attention back to Lance. “The others are already waiting for breakfast in the dining hall. I thought I'd find him here before I came and got you.” 

Lance’s lips dip into a frown. Breakfast? It’s already 0800? That couldn’t be right, there was no way Lance had been shooting in the training room for five hours already. It hardly felt like forty-five minutes had gone by! Had he fallen asleep at some point? He knits his brows together. 

That seems... highly unlikely. But, hey, weirder things have happened. 

“Keith hasn’t been here, it’s just been me for the last few hours,” Lance says, face mimicking Hunk’s confused one. Hunk hums in response. 

“That’s weird,” he mumbles back, teeth digging into his bottom lip. Lance can’t help but agree. “Maybe he’s feeling a bit under the weather, then—this last week has been tough. Why don’t you go on ahead and meet everyone, and I’ll check Keith’s room?” 

Lance wants to argue and go with him, but his stomach rumbles in protest. He huffs out a breath and then offers Hunk a quick nod of his head. He’ll see Keith later, anyway—and he’ll be able to tease him about missing his paramount yoga practices when he did. 

Hunk leads them out of the training deck before giving Lance a wave. They both turn on their heels, moving down two opposite ends of the same corridor. Lance listens to Hunk’s retreating footsteps as he moves toward the hallway their bunks are positioned in. 

Lance stuffs his hand into his jacket’s pocket, other still holding his Bayard as he approaches the end of the hallway. He takes the turn, whistling as he reaches one of the dining hall’s entrances. Stepping inside of the room, Lance didn’t expect bright smiling faces, but he definitely didn’t expect to be greeted with Pidge, glaring at her laptop and typing like she’s running out of time and Allura nearly falling face-flat against the table. 

He makes his way to his regular seat and sets his Bayard down on the table a little way away from him. No one greets him, but Pidge does glance up from her laptop screen and give him a look that’s Pidge’s silent version of, ‘ _you look like shit_ ’, which, uh,  _rude_. 

The dark purplish smudges underneath her bloodshot eyes keep him from calling her out for it. 

His gaze shifts over to Allura, who sits at the head of the table. It was where Shiro used to sit, before... everything happened. Lance remembers Allura slumping down there after one of her first missions with the Paladins a few months back, exhausted out of her mind before she shot up like the seat had burned her, flashing apologetic eyes to the rest of the team. 

Keith was the one who had spoken up in her defense, surprising them all. 

 _(“It was your father’s seat before Shiro’s,”_  Keith had told her, small smile pushing up at the corners of his lips. “ _Shiro was kind of rude to sit there_ _,_ _to begin with, anyway.”)_  

Lance smiles. 

“Lance, my boy!” Coran says from behind him, coming out of nowhere. Lance jerks in his seat, peeling his eyes away from Allura and smothering down the stupid smile on his face as he looks up to the orange-mustached uncle everyone loves. “I’m glad to see that you’ve been training! I was notified early this morning that you had gotten to the next level; you’ve been moving up rather fast if I do say so myself—like a true Paladin!” 

Lance lets out a laugh, sounding more strained than he would’ve liked. A swirl of discomfort bubbles inside of him at the mention—sure, it’s good that he’s getting his training in, but the circumstances that let him are less than ideal. 

He already has Hunk making comments about it, he really wishes they could save their ‘ _we're worried about you and we don’t know what to do so we’re going to be awkward about it forever_ ’ type talk until their more emotional training sessions, like the one Coran has planned for them after breakfast. He knows that later, he’ll have to talk to them about his dream and why he had occupied the training room for five hours instead of being able to fall back asleep, but for now, he wants to focus on literally anything else. 

Coran raises an eyebrow, something sparkling in his eyes. His mustache twitches, the knowing look back and as obvious as before. A sigh falls from Lance’s lips as he slumps back into the dining chair, sliding down the seat just enough for his back to hit the cushion. 

“Are you having those strange dreams again?” Allura asks, posh voice sounding groggy and a little muffled from her squished cheek. 

Lance groans. So much for not having that conversation—apparently it’s coming earlier than expected. “Yes, I am,” He admits with a slight bitterness to his tone. “I don’t even know  _why_! This last week, I was perfectly fine! But it’s like, as soon as my head hits the pillow in  _my_ room, I project into some weird, alternate reality! It’s terrible!” 

Lance sighs again, this time more wistfully. The last planet they had saved from the Galra and formed an alliance with was Mopra, which they currently reside on until they take off sometime later that afternoon. The Morpians had kindly offered their hospitality while they organized a celebratory get-together for Team Voltron and the Blade of Marmora, who had assisted the team during the fight with the Galra fleets. 

Of course, he slept like a rock after the party, which was more of a rave than a get-together, really. He had a fun night until he got a sensory overload, but Pidge had waved at him and gently led him away from the flashing neon lights and heavy-beat music to someplace quiet. But then, the night before, after they had moved back to the castle after finalizing their alliance and bam, Lance’s sleep schedule fell back into its ugly state. 

Maybe he’s still getting over the overload—the after effects took him days to get over sometimes. Maybe that could explain why the dreams had gotten so... real? He knows nothing about them or what causes them, so it’s an interesting hypothesis, even if it doesn’t exactly make sense to him. 

“Maybe you were cursed,” Allura mumbles, eyelids drooping. 

The doors behind her open, but Lance pays no attention to Hunk and Keith’s entrance. 

“Cursed?!” Lance cries, sitting up in his seat quickly. “Who would curse me? I've never done anything wrong in my entire life!” 

A body plops in the seat to his left, a mop of black hair spread across the table, along with a pale hand with a plum-colored scrunchie around the wrist. “You’re yelling at eight in the morning,” Keith’s voice sounds scratchy, mostly muffled by his mouth smushed against the table, but it was no doubt taking the whiny pitch Keith gets when he just wakes up. “That’s  _illegal_ , shut up.” 

“Uh, if  _you_ just found out that you were cursed, you’d be yelling, too,” Lance counters bitterly, but he can feel a smile quirking at his lips. Pidge mumbles at something, fingers typing sporadically on her keyboard; the clicking’s a nice sound, but Lance still speaks over it. “You wanna’ know what’s illegal? You not showing up for your early morning training. I thought you died! I was mourning all morning.” Lance pauses before his face brightens, a smile stretching wide across his lips—he can already hear Allura and Hunk sighing. “HA! Get it?” 

Keith groans. “Your bad jokes are not helping,” 

Across the table, next to where Pidge sits, Hunk snickers as he leans back in his chair. “I never thought I’d see the day where Keith wasn’t a morning bird. How late were you up last night?” 

As Keith lifts his head, Coran passes out their plates of a leftover breakfast dish from Mopra—it’s a weird play on pancakes, Lance thinks as he stares down as the fluffy, cream triangle on the metal plate. He grabs his spork and glances over at Keith as he pulls his rats' ness of a mullet out of his face. 

“If I tell you, you guys will make fun of me,” Keith grumbles as his bangs slip from the loose ponytail and fall back into his eyes. He has a few baby strands against the back of his neck, as well, too short for him to pull up. 

 _He should get a haircut_. 

Lance cocks an eyebrow as he cuts the triangle alien-pancake, watching the bittersweet scarlet syrup dribble out. He scoops up the piece and stuffs it into his mouth, relishing in the flavor as Pidge shoves her laptop away to focus on her breakfast. 

“Mhm,” She unfolds her glasses and rubs at the corners of her eyes. “Probably. Let me guess, you fell asleep at, what, three in the morning?” 

Keith sinks lower in his seat, cheeks turning a dusty pink as he toys at his pancake with his spork. He mumbles something underneath his breath that Lance can’t hear. Hunk and Pidge both lean in closer, failing miserably at biting back their amused grins. 

“What did you say, Keith?” Hunk asks, complacent. Lance snickers into his food. “I didn’t quite catch that.” 

“... one-thirty in the morning.” Keith says louder, refusing to look up and meet his friends’ eyes. Lance giggles around his spork, laughing louder when Keith kicks his ankle underneath the table. He nudges his foot back against Keith’s. “You guys don’t understand, I’m used to being asleep by eleven!” 

Pidge cackles as she cuts her pancake in half. “Poor Keithy.” She says, voice taking its natural sardonic tone as she digs into her food. Through a full mouth, she adds, “Seriously, how the hell do you manage to have a normal sleep schedule? Even Allura stays up past midnight!” 

Allura mumbles something about regrets. Lance turns his head toward her direction, eyes widening as she almost slips face-first into her food. Her head snaps up for a moment, eyes blinking owlishly before she slumps back into her palm with a loud yawn. 

Keith shrugs his right shoulder and takes a bite of his food before he kicks Lance’s leg again. Lance kicks back. 

“I don’t know, I don’t have anything better to do like you guys do,” Keith says as he waves his empty spork around. Lance takes advantage of Keith’s distraction and then hooks his foot around his ankle. His eyes widen a fraction, surprise taking his face before and he shoots Lance a dirty look. “You really wanna’ do this, Moody?” 

It would be impossible to not notice the way Hunk and Pidge pointedly stare at their food with immense interest. Most of Mopra’s dishes had been really good, and their rip-off pancakes were no exception. But bickering with Keith is a lot more fun than stuffing his face. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Mullet,” Lance replies innocently, casting a playful look over to Keith. He takes another bite of his food and hums against his eating utensil. Keith raises an eyebrow at him, face contorted into something competitive. Sleep still lingers in his eyes, only really noticeable by how he blinks slowly, but that didn’t stop him from a challenge. Of course, it wouldn’t. “But you most definitely started it,” Lance adds in a stage-whisper. 

Keith scoffs. 

They spent the rest of their breakfast ogling over their delicious food that seems a little bit too much like a delicacy to be considered good to eat in the mornings. Keith and Lance continue their game of aggressive footsie until Keith accidentally kicks Hunk in the shin, resulting in Lance choking on his laughter (and food) and for Keith to flush red and stumble over his own apology while he elbows Lance in the side for his loud cackles. 

A normal morning—but it was good enough for Lance to forget about his dreams. Just for a pleasant moment. 

After breakfast, each of the Paladins had two hours to change into their armor and spend time amongst themselves before training. Usually, Lance would spend his time with Keith in the mornings, but Keith said something about needing to get in his morning training before they worked on their mind-meld. It was enough to send Lance running before Keith could even ask him if he wanted to join him for yoga as if Lance hadn’t pulled five different muscles the last time. 

So, Lance finds himself sitting in Blue, enjoying the momentary quiet. 

The lack of sleep catches up to him, pulling at his bones enough to turn him into liquid. A sigh escapes his lips as he crosses his arms across his chest, shifting his chair to find a comfortable position to lounge. Eyelids heavy, another sigh falls from Lance’s lips. A growing annoyance gnaws at his guts. 

A cool rumble in the back of his head, tentative, forces Lance to adopt a smile on his face. His Lion, as docile as a giant robot killing machine can be, had seemed to grow more worried about him in the last few weeks—always whispering ideas into his head about how different he feels, how proud she is of him, how she wants to know what’s wrong so she can help. 

He doesn’t really know how to tell her, even with her quiet,  _is everything all right, Paladin?_  in the back of his head. So, Lance got used to saying nothing; it’s easier than putting the swirl of his own confusion into words. 

“I just want to sleep, Blue,” Lance mumbles as his eyes slowly slip shut. “Without having those weird dreams about my family, or the team. Last night was  _horrible_. I couldn’t do anything about it, and I just...” His voice cracks. He clenches his jaw, relishing in the gentle prodding in the back of his head. 

How is he supposed to tell Blue about his dreams? How he was thrown back seven months ago, back in the Black Lion’s cockpit looking at the empty pilot’s seat. How he had to watch Keith’s eyes swell up with tears, to watch his face contort into something furious, and then into something crestfallen. How he had to see Pidge openly weep for her surrogate brother, for Hunk to be the one to drag Keith out of the cockpit because Lance  _couldn’t_ this time. How would he tell Blue that he couldn’t do his job, couldn’t comfort his best friends—how he could only watch the heartbreak in his team all over again, alone and growing steadily numb to it? 

The Blue Lion pulls back and offers a gentle wave of something like an apology. 

“It’s not your fault, girl. I just... none of us know what to do about it.” Lance laughs weakly. He rubs the back of his head against his chair, hoping to find a better angle so his neck doesn’t cramp. “It’s just inconvenient, y’know? How am I supposed to be a good Paladin when I can’t get a normal night’s sleep?” 

Blue silences herself for a moment before coming back with a whisper of,  _I’ll keep you safe this time. Rest._  

A light flashes and Lance opens his eyes, only to watch Blue’s particle barrier cascade down around the Lion. Without even deciding to, a half-smile tugs at Lance’s mouth. Even though he’s sure that her particle barrier couldn’t stop whatever is giving him the unsettling dreams, he appreciates her effort. 

Lance’s eyelids slip down and sleep pulls him under immediately. 

Surprisingly, his nap’s peaceful. It’s a welcomed change, something he accepts with open arms and embraces tightly. Instead of the harsh memories that he could play like video games, Lance dreamt of buttery garlic knots melting against his tongue, toes digging into chilled pearl-white sand, and slow dancing with someone he loved to a song he didn’t know. 

To say he felt sad when he woke up to a loud echo of something that sounded like wobbling laminated paper would’ve been an understatement. He blinks his sleep away and then wipes at his eyes with his sleeve just to be sure before he sits up from his curled position in the Blue Lion’s chair. 

Standing from his seat, he throws his arms into the air with his usual McClain dramatic flair. He yawns, loud enough that it echoes in Blue’s cockpit before he takes three steps to the dashboard. Looking out of his Lion’s eyes, all the way down to the floor, he spots a tiny, red-figure, knocking insistently on the particle barrier. 

Blue chirps in the back of his head, something akin to a fond chuckle. 

Lance holds the same sentiment. 

She lowers her head and opened her jaw for him to meet his friend, and Lance pats the dashboard before turning and leaving the cockpit, taking his sweet time to exit his lion. 

As his foot takes its first step on to the tile of the hanger, Keith meets his gaze. He doesn’t quit his knocking, and even though he holds an unimpressed look across his face, Lance can see the shine of amusement in his eyes—he probably likes annoying Lance with the  _wublublub_ of the particle barrier. 

It takes him a few steps to reach Keith. Lance crosses his arms over his chest and raises a brow. Keith’s lips twitch and he continued to knock on the blue forcefield, motions never wavering. 

“You know, that’s not gonna make it open!” Lance yells and gestures at Keith with his hand before he stuffs it back into the warmth of his jacket. 

Keith’s composure breaks, something much easier to do these days, and his lips quirk into a smile. “I’m just doing what you taught me!” He calls back, raising his voice loud enough to be heard, just as Lance had. 

Lance blinks, face growing blank before the bulb above his head lightens. Laughter spews from his lips, making him nearly double over as his body shakes. How did Keith even remember that? Lance almost forgot that, himself. Keith’s smile widens a fraction, seemingly pleased.  

Lance shakes his head at him and turns to Blue, calling for her to open her barriers. 

As the shield disperses, Lance tilts his head to the side. Keith’s arm falls limp. 

“Miss me that much, Mullet?” Lance asks, wiggling his eyebrows. Keith rolls his eyes so hard it looks like it could hurt; how could one boy be so dramatic? Lance’s lips quirk upwards, unable to help himself. “I thought me running away from your yoga offer was a clear rejection. I was getting some beauty sleep, I hope you know.” 

Keith’s expression shifts. Lance’s smile falters a bit. 

Oh, no. Did he offend Keith? Sure, his legs are still sore from the craziness that Keith had him endure that morning last week, but with the way he outwardly hesitates, Lance already began to mentally prep stretches to make sure that his body’s ready to start those hellish mornings back up again— 

“If I had known you were sleeping, I would’ve waited longer to come grab you,” Keith says, interrupting Lance’s train of thought. 

Oh. Okay. So, yoga’s off. But, now, Keith looks at him with a worrying expression, a silent question that leaves something uneasy in Lance’s gut. 

It’s obvious from the prying look he holds in his eyes that Keith wants to talk to him about his dreams, something Lance had been avoiding with literally everyone in the castle except for Hunk. It’s... sweet, especially when seven months ago, Keith would probably have turned up his nose and rather get kicked around by the Gladiator than talk to Lance about his issues, but... _still._   

He can hardly talk about the dreams with his Lion—talking to Keith about these things just didn’t feel right. He silently wonders if Keith would even care to listen. There’s a chance that he could just be trying to even the odds of their emotional bonding because despite him and Keith hanging out together more, and having become much closer with him over the multitude of weeks that had passed, he knew Keith still got… weird around him. 

Not a bad weird, though. It’s… kind of endearing, if Lance is being honest. 

“It’s cool!” Lance assures, offering a smile. He hopes that it’s enough for Keith to let it go, because knowing Allura, she’ll be very adamant about discussing his dreams during their mind-meld sessions if he can’t focus. “If I had slept any longer, I wouldn’t have been able to fall asleep tonight. Plus, don’t we have training? Or did you actually just miss me?” 

Keith stares at him for a beat longer before he shakes his head. His hair fell into his eyes, but he ignored it as he nods his head to the exit. Lance follows him out of the hanger, waving his hand to Blue and blowing her kisses while Keith laughs at him. 

The two make their way to the training room with a small conversation. He can tell that Keith’s teetering on the edge of wanting to ask about his nap, but every opening Lance gets, he directs the conversation somewhere else, hoping that his subject changes weren’t a too obvious ‘ _I don’t want to talk about this’_. 

It doesn’t take long for them to reach the training room. As the doors slide open, Lance’s eyes fall on to the rest of the team. Standing in the middle of the room stands Allura and Coran, both Altean’s hunched over a tablet. Coran gestures toward the device animatedly, saying something that Lance couldn’t hear from the distance. Allura nods her head and rubs her chin. Coming in from the other entrance, Pidge follows behind Hunk, clad in their color-coded armor. His hands cover his ears as the Green Paladin waves her arms in the air, face morphing into different expressions that vary from frustrated to excited. 

None of that is a sight Lance wants to see. 

“Why do they look like they’re plotting?” Lance asks, preparing himself to melt into a puddle on the tile after training. His eyes didn’t have to move over to Keith to know that he holds an expression of similar bitter apprehension.   

“They’re  _always_  plotting,” Keith says back, voice taking a slight drawl like it usually did when he was quietly annoyed. 

Despite the fact that he knows that they were in for more than the Paladins’ had originally prepared for, Lance… actually prefers physical training to the mind-meld. He  _had_ been practicing with his Bayard a lot more lately, thanks to the sleepless nights—maybe this time he can show off his skills. Or, at least wear himself out enough that he'll be able to pass out into a dreamless sleep that night. Maybe he can try sleeping in Blue again if it meant that the night would be as peaceful as it had been during his cat-nap. His body distantly aches, longing to be back with his toes in the sand like they had been in his dream. 

Allura glances up from the tablet and looks at Hunk and Pidge before moving her eyes over to Lance and Keith. She offers each of them a small smile and ushers them forward with an enthusiastic wave of her hand. Lance groans, shucks off his jacket, and stalks forward, ignoring Keith’s elbow that hits his ribs. 

He attempts to trip the other. It doesn’t work, but, whatever. 

“I’m assuming we’re changing up our plans?” Hunk says once they all stand in a huddle around the two Alteans’. “If it means anything, I was perfectly fine with the mind-meld training. I think we should do that.” 

Coran laughs, holding his stomach as if he were in pain. “Oh, Number One, you sure do crack me up!” He chuckles, wiping a non-existent tear from his eye. His mustache twitches. “But it’s good to always be on your feet—nothing is set in stone! Everything is changing! The future is out of your hands!” 

Hunk’s nose crinkles. 

“While we are still going to focus primarily on the mind meld training, Coran and I were just looking at each of your training statistics,” Allura says as she looks up from the tablet, eyes sparkling. “Lance, you’re doing very well with your rifle. Your percentage of accuracy has gone up quite a bit—96.4% now! That is quite impressive.” 

Lance blinks. He brings his hand up to his head and brushes his hair out of his face, leaving it sticking up at odd ends. With eyes wide on Allura, his gut tightens uncomfortably at her attention. An involuntary smile tugs at the corners of his lips. 

“Oh. Thanks, Princess,” He mumbles. 

Allura hums and turns to Hunk, and then to Pidge and Keith. She gives them each their scores and praises their hard work, somehow boosting morale better than he ever could. Much like Lance, each of his teammates’ levels went up by the week. It’s a stark contrast to see how far they’d come now, compared to how useless they were in the beginning. 

Coran steps away from the group and moves toward the training room’s observation deck. There, he would alter the team’s training with a push of a button, and knowing that Coran’s less than merciful when it comes to fighting the Gladiator, Lance takes a deep breath and tightens his grip around his Bayard. 

Hunk moves next to him, looking over his shoulder toward the observation deck with weary brown eyes. When he looks back forward, he manages to catch Lance’s eyes. Lance gives his friend a brave smile and a short nod of his head like it would somehow soothe his nerves. 

“We’re defense, buddy,” Lance says as he turns his eyes forward. The tension eases out of Hunk at the reminder. 

Both Hunk and he watch Keith and Allura stand in the front of the formation. Keith’s Bayard already formed into a sword, and Allura holds on to her white bo staff, ready for action. Pidge stands alongside the two, looking like a child in comparison to the other two soldiers. Even with her standing like she’s ready for a fight, she still doesn’t look like belongs on the battlefield in the first place 

 _But then again,_ a voice inside of his head that sounds too much like Shiro says,  _do any of you?_  

It doesn’t take long for Coran to drop the first Gladiator onto the training deck. 

After their months of working against the bot, the team had managed to take one down together without getting beaten up too badly. Of course, that only resulted in both Pidge adjusting the settings for the Gladiator or for Coran to drop more bots in. Then again, fighting only one bot made it easy to slack off. And to slack off during training is something that Coran does not appreciate. 

Keith and Allura have already charged at the first droid, taking their turns attacking before Pidge uses her grappling hook function on her own Bayard to attempt to trip up the droid. Hunk manages to get a few shots in before Lance realizes he’s the only one standing there doing nothing. 

Another droid drops to the floor. Lance can hear Keith groan as he parts from the first Gladiator to the new one. His sword clashes against the staff the second bot used and a flutter of sparks to erupt at the collision. 

“Lance, come on!” Pidge shouts as she skids across the floor. He blinks the haze away, watching her heels drag across the floor with little restraint from the first Gladiator. She must weight absolutely nothing to it, and her face already turning red from exertion. “Pay attention or we’re toast!” She adds a little desperately. 

He sucks in a deep breath and raises his Bayard, positioning the gun against his shoulder before taking a clean shot to the back of the first Gladiator’s head. It stumbles a bit, giving Pidge enough of a distraction to tug the grappling hook and to throw off its balance.  

As the first Gladiator falls to the floor, Lance’s starting to think that Coran likes toying with them. Another robot drops, bending at the knees before it stands to its full height. It immediately catches Hunk’s attention and targets him.  

Hunk shoots his machine gun toward the Gladiator, stepping backward as the bot dashes toward him. It serpentines, dodging Hunk’s laser blasts in oddly coordinated movements. Is the droid learning from them? That makes everything much more complicated.  

Lance watches as both Hunk and Pidge dance around the newest Gladiator. Their movements seem sporadic and definitely unsure, but there’s a gracefulness to it that comes from experience. Pidge shoots at it with her taser, but the electricity seems to only charges it’s bo staff. Lance’s eyes widen along with Hunk’s. 

A loud crack catches Lance’s attention. He snaps his head to his left, eyes falling on Keith, who’s crumpled against the wall. He clutches his wrist, face twisted into something mildly annoyed. Strained, too—Lance knows what Keith looks like when he’s in pain after months of training with him and fighting alongside his mulleted ass in the battlefield. He can see the cracks in his composure better than Keith could, probably. 

“Keith!” Allura yells, never taking her eyes off of the Gladiator she smacks with her own bo staff, “Are you all right?” 

Keith’s sigh turns into an agitated growl. “I’m  _fine,_  ‘Lura.I just sprained my—” As Keith speaks, he looks up toward the training floor. His eyes widen a fraction as he meets Lance’s, and for a moment Lance thinks that maybe Keith would offer him an awkward smile, but instead, he yells, “—Lance! Watch your left!” 

His grip on his Bayard tightens. Lance whips around. Just as Keith had warned him, the Gladiator that had wiped him out charges toward his direction with abandon. The bot’s too close for Lance to shoot—the laser blast would blow up right in his face. Its weapon is already drawn, ready to strike Lance down with a single swipe of its staff.  

A flash of light blinds him, demanding—confident, even—as it tells him to swing his arm. His biceps tighten from the sudden strain and his wrist clenches, neither not ready for the sudden movement, but the hiss of the Gladiator falling into the floor below distracts him from the ache. Lance kneels over, leaning on to his Bayard to hold up his body from the floor. He takes a deep breath. A droplet of sweat slips past his brow bone, down to the sharp edges of his cheek. 

“End training sequence...” 

Lance opens his eyes. They’re ending training already? His eyes move over to Allura, lip pouting downward until he sees the expression that had crossed her face. There’s something in her eyes that shines, and as he usually did, Lance freezes underneath her direct attention. 

Was that takedown cool looking or something? Even Keith’s staring at him with wide eyes. 

“Holy shit!” Pidge shouts. 

Lance snaps his head over to her, rolling back his shoulder. As he meets her gaze, he finds that instead of Pidge looking at him, she’s looking at his Bayard. Following her attention, Lance locks eyes with the Bayard he grips in his hand. 

In the center of his the Bayard‘s pommel, a piece of metal glows turquoise, identical to the rest of the Castle of Lions. The grip is as black as his flight suit and a silver and blue blade erects from the top of the handle. 

It’s... a sword.  

Lance pinches his brows together. A sword? He isn’t a sword guy, that’s Keith. He’s—he was a  _gun_  guy. The team’s sharpshooter. He doesn’t even know  _how_  to use a sword; Lance is a good shot. That’s something he is good at, and now… 

“Dude…” Across the room from him, Keith openly marvels at the new form of his Bayard. “You have a  _sword_?” 

Something ugly curls inside of him. He looks back down at the Bayard. 

 _No_ , he wants to say,  _I don’t know what this is._  

Instead of speaking, Lance stares at the weapon in his hand, lips curling into a frown. He isn’t sure of the expression he holds, how much of the bitterness that swirls inside of him is apparent, but at that moment he... doesn’t really care. 

He wants his gun back. Talk about irrational, childish attachments. 

“That’s not just any sword,” Allura mumbles. Lance’s head shoots up, hi, almost forgetting the audience he had for the transformation. Allura stares at the sword with the reverence one has for their God, her lips agape and eyes round. “I haven’t seen an Altean Broadsword in… a very long time. My father wielded one of these, as well.” 

A deep breath escapes from Lance’s lips, trembling. Alfor used the broadsword? It’s bad enough that Keith’s super skilled with a sword, now he’s going to be alongside the King of Altea in the ‘PALADINS WHO USED SWORDS’ in the future Voltron Handbook they share with the universe. 

There’s no way he can even begin to compare to the two. 

He swallows down the lump that threatens to lodge in his throat.  “That’s…” Lance licks his lips, mouth dry. “...crazy. Uh—but I already have enough Bayard forms, don’t you think? I mean, I have the plasma rifle, sniper, and… the pistol. Now, this?” He works out a chuckle. It sounds too forced. “I don’t even know how to use a sword without ripping my arm from its socket,” 

From his left, Pidge hums in acknowledgment. “Keith can help you, I’m sure,” She then says, cracking her knuckles in front of her chest. “You’ve been spending a lot of time training, anyway.” 

The bitterness sweeps over his stomach, poisonous and cold. He can feel Hunk’s gaze burning into the side of his face, and like the good friend he is, Lance ignores him. 

Keith stands up from against the wall and wobbles over toward Allura. He flexes his wrist and rolls it around in gentle circles, wincing as he moves it too roughly. His eyes trail from his hand tightened around his own wrist toward Lance’s sword, indigo eyes wielding something excited underneath them. 

Lance almost feels guilty for being upset. Almost. 

“Sounds good to me,” Lance replies after a second, lifting the broadsword to rest upon his shoulder. He offers Keith a smirk, but it’s no doubt frayed along the edges. “I guess he wouldn’t be  _that_  bad to wipe the floor with… I mean, did you see that takedown? I’m already a pro.” 

Lance rolls his shoulder, hoping to aim for something confident, and then winces. He can tell it’ll be sore tomorrow. Why the hell were swords so heavy in the first place? He’s pretty sure that his rifle weighed less than the broadsword. 

Keith snickers quietly and says, “Keep that up, and you’ll end up like me, Moody.” 

He arches an eyebrow back toward Keith, dipping his hip out to his right. “What? With carpal tunnel?” He bites back. 

Keith’s expression falls flat and he glares. “Not what I meant,” He mutters, but doesn’t say anything else. 

Lance shrugs his shoulders. Removing his Bayard from its resting place, he grabs the blade with his other hand. The sword looks nice, he guesses. The grip’s more comfortable to hold than he thought Keith’s would be, so at least he won’t mess up his wrists. 

Glancing up from the blade, he looks back at Keith through the strands of his bangs that shield his eyes. Next to Keith, Coran has appeared and holds out bandages for his wrist. Keith nods a silent thanks and begins to off his gloves, slowly as if he’s trying his hardest to not further irritate the strain. 

“So,” Hunk says from next to Lance, startling him out of his thoughts. “You wanna talk about it?” 

Lance furrows his brows. “Talk about what?” He asks, playing oblivious as he turns his attention toward Hunk. 

Hunk crosses his arms over his chest, aiming for nonchalance. His expression gives him away, though—he holds his eyebrows too high and his eyes shine with a strong nosiness that prickles irritation inside of Lance. He clenches his jaw. 

“Oh, you know,” Hunk says, waving his untucked hand around aimlessly. “you just got a sword in addition to your other three bayard forms. Any normal Paladin would be jumping for joy right now,” 

Lance huffs out an indignant scoff. 

“It’s just a lot of extra time in the training room,” Lance says back. If Hunk’s going to dart around whatever he wants to ask, then fine. Lance can roll with it. “I have hobbies, you know! Training every hour of every day like Keith just isn’t my style,” 

Hunk hesitates before he shrugs. “No one said it was, Lance,” He reminds. 

Before Lance can reply to what he had said, Hunk pats his shoulder a bit too roughly and moves across the training floor, over to Keith. Lance watches his best friend helplessly as he fixes the bandages around Keith’s left arm. 

What is  _that_  supposed to mean? 

Lance decides to shake it off, not feeling up to deciphering Hunk’s comments toward him. His eyes flick back toward his Bayard, the sword still present in his hands. If he pushes the anxiety aside, then yeah, the sword is pretty freaking sweet, but something weird still lingers in his chest as he stares at the blade. 

“May I?” Allura asks, stepping closer to him. 

Lance looks at her and then blinks. She gestures toward the sword with her hand and a slow nod of her head, which has Lance scrambling to nod back quickly. He ignores the wisps of brown hair that fall into his eyes as he moves the grip toward her direction for her to grab. 

Her hand grazes his as she grabs the sword from him, sending jolts through his veins. He ignores those, too, and watches as her round blue eyes examine the blade. 

“It suits you,” She says quietly, full silver brows furrowing down into her eyes.  

Lance swallows. His gaze slowly inches across her dark brown cheek to the pink markings around her cheekbones. She glances up at Lance through her set of full lashes.  

“What?” He asks, like an idiot.  

“The broadsword,” She clarifies, eyes moving back toward the weapon she holds between her fingers. Lance follows her gaze and slowly nods his head. “It means you are destined for greatness, Lance. It suits you,” 

His eyes narrow at the sword. 

Greatness, huh? 

He’s good with his gun. He’s great, even. That’s the one thing he knows he can offer the rest of the team, the one thing he can pride himself in being good at. He doesn’t even know how to use a sword properly—he doesn’t know a thing about them. 

Alfor used a sword, the same sword Allura holds on display in front of him. Keith uses a sword, too—he’s the best swordsman Lance knows. 

And himself? He isn’t like either of them. He couldn’t be. Never in a hundred million years would he be able to wield it, not with the confidence of knowing he’s meant for something great. 

He looks over to Keith, only to watch as the other’s eyes dart away from him. A scowl spreads across his face as he glares at his hands, flexing his wrist. He doesn’t wince that time around. 

Lance swallows something bitter down and looks back to Allura. Helpless, he asks in a soft voice, “Are you sure?” 

With a flash of light, Lance’s Bayard dissolves into its safety mode. Without even flinching, Allura hands it back to him and offers a kind, toothless smile. It did little to calm the wave of negativity in his head, but he appreciates the gesture. 

“Are you doubting me?” She asks quietly,  _teasingly_ , as she arches a brow.  

 _No_ , Lance wants to say,  _I’m doubting myself_. 

Figuring that it would’ve meant the same thing either way to her, Lance doesn’t actually respond. Instead, he offers her his own small tilt of his lips and then pockets the Bayard into his armor, feeling the particles of atoms pull away from his grip until he holds on to nothing in his hands. 

Despite the fact that he’s more than glad to have the sword out of his hands, Lance wishes he could rewind time and go back to fighting the Gladiator. Now that the physical aspect of their team training is finished, Coran had started pulling out the mind-melding devices. He knows it had been his idea to keep up the mental link up and going, but—if he can’t focus, he’ll be a dead man. 

Talking about his dreams is the last thing he wants to do right now. 

After he grabs the headband from Coran, he mumbles a quiet thank-you before moving down to the floor. He stares down at the device in his hands until his vision blurs. 

He has to focus on connecting with the Blue Lion. It won’t be that hard, right? He sat with her earlier that day, so... Lance has nothing to worry about. He’s got it in the bag! Easy-peasy, there’s no way that Lance can screw this up. He has the strongest bond with his Lion out of all of the Paladins, having known her the longest, so what was even there to worry about in the first place? 

The optimistic thoughts do nothing to quell the anxiety that rumbles inside of him, but it’s a start at least. 

Pidge plops down next to him, tilting her head to the side. She holds a funny look across her face as she watches Lance for a moment, her nose wrinkling. 

Lance blinks and then looks over to meet her eyes. “What?” He asks, frowning, “Do I have something on my face?” 

Pidge’s pursed lips crack into a small smile. She then says, “Maybe at the next planet we visit, I can try to find ingredients to make you sleeping pills. I know we have to refill your space-addys, anyway,” 

He furrows his brows, making small a crease above his nose. “Thanks, Pidge,” he says back after a quiet moment. 

Lance doesn’t bother to tell her that his issue isn’t with falling asleep, but the dreams themselves. He figures that if it’d make her feel better to make him sleeping pills, then whatever. He can take them if he can’t fall asleep after waking up in the middle of the night. It’s not like it’ll hurt. 

Pidge mutters something back, but he doesn’t bother to listen. 

On his right, Hunk sits down on the floor. He fumbles around with the orange headband wrapped around his head. After untying the knot, his hair tumbles down into his face. Hunk sighs out a small breath and then shakes his head, tossing his silky hair out of his eyes. 

Lance whistles, grinning like a madman as Hunk rolls his eyes at him and nudges him with his elbow. 

After Allura’s command, it doesn’t take long for everyone to place the devices on to their heads. Making sure the sensors are lined up with their temples, the devices click and then begin to mold their consciousnesses together. 

The feeling always sends chills down Lance’s spine. Connecting with the rest of his friends gives him some sort of instant relief, something he isn’t sure he’d ever be able find anywhere else. The same energy buzzes underneath his skin as it did when he and the rest of the Paladin’s formed Voltron, feeling like fuzzy bubbles that spread throughout his nervous system. 

Voltron… 

It’s been seven months since they’d formed Voltron. Seven months since they battled Zarkon. Seven months since the first part of the war ended. Seven months since Shiro had— 

Lance clenches his jaw. 

Shiro is dead, isn’t he? Knowing him, he would have somehow escaped if he were alive. The guy could do anything, he’s the strongest person Lance knows, next to Allura and Coran. The Blade of Marmora would’ve helped again somehow, right? They would’ve saved him from the prisons like they had before if he… 

Shiro  _is_  dead. He’s—crystals. Somewhere in space. Floating aimlessly in cosmic dust. 

Just like the rest of them. 

Lance’s throat tightens. He squeezes his eyes shut, brows burrowing low on his face. 

He shouldn’t think things like that. He knows that, but lately, Lance can’t seem to help himself. 

 _You have a purpose._ Voltron  _has a purpose,_ he reminds himself, although a bit beratingly. 

His nap had helped his exhaustion, but not nearly enough as he wished it did. He has one wrong move left until he falls apart at the seams. Lance can’t screw this up. He can’t worry his team, can’t think of his family on Earth, can’t do  _anything_ except be as close to perfect as he can manage to be. 

“Take deep breaths,” Allura’s voice comes from somewhere behind him. “Focus on your lion and your bond with them.” 

His lion. Blue. He needs to think about  _Blue_. Not the Black Lion’s empty cockpit that he knows he’s projecting in front of the entire team. Those thoughts are reserved for his dreams. For the nights where he can’t sleep. For training at three in the morning. 

He forcefully collects himself. He won’t let himself get distracted, not any longer. 

After taking a deep breath as Allura instructed, Lance zeroes on the buzzing in his veins. There's a prodding in the back of his head, gentle and hesitant, darts away from him as he reaches out. A game of cat-and-mouse, but with a sentient robotic Lion. 

He wonders Blue likes to play fetch. 

“Lance,  _focus_ ,” Pidge warns, but amusement slips into her words. 

Lance peels an eye open. Pidge tries her hardest to bite back a laugh by filling her round cheeks with air. Her projection’s choppy, a little misty like a vague idea would be, but it shows the Green Lion playing with an asteroid like it’s a ball of yarn. 

 _Don’t laugh, stay focused_ , Lance tells himself. His lips tremble.  

Hunk begins to giggle quietly to himself, his own concentration falling apart as he imagines the Yellow Lion batting at a gigantic feather-wand toy. It projects just as clearly as Pidge’s had. 

Neither of the three can contain their laughter after the breath bursts from Pidge’s mouth with a loud  _PFFFFBT._  It echoes throughout the training room, sending both Lance and Hunk into hysterics with Pidge following after. 

It isn’t  _that_  funny. Lance knows that as he clutches to Hunk like a lifeline, the lack of focus and fits of laughter are because he’s incredibly sleep deprived, but… it’s somehow still  _so_  funny. Even Keith’s shoulders shake with silent chuckles, but his laughter’s probably directed toward the Altean’s, who looks confused and maybe even a little concerned for the rest of the Paladins. 

“Paladins, please,” Allura says after a moment, cocking her head to the side. “Remain focused. We have time for laughter during our movie tonight, remember?” 

Pidge snickers as Lance tries to collect himself once again.  

“Allura—” Hunk clears his throat, attempting to rid himself of laughter before he continued. “Allura’s right, we should focus. This part’s easy, you guys,” 

Taking a deep breath, Lance nods his head. He swallows down any giggles that threaten to escape his lips before he straightens his back. After another steady breath, Lance’s eyes slip shut. 

Focus. He has to focus. He was just with Blue, it shouldn’t be so hard to find her. 

After a bit of rummaging around in the back of his head, Lance finds a cold spot. He zeroes in on the rush of something boreal in the back of his head, focusing on the way it dances around him, almost hesitant despite the dauntless aura that surrounds it. Strangely, Blue feels... new to him? 

Something giddy sparks in his chest, but he smothers it just in time so his Lion doesn’t tease him. He has to be patient. He has to wait for the Lion to come to him now. 

 _Come on_ , he prods the back of his head, gentle and caring yet urgent all at once,  _let me in_. 

A brush of something cold hits him like a gust of wind would be near the shore. It isn’t the same feeling as plunging into the depths, not the one that’s so familiar it hurts. It isn’t the frigid water that slowly envelops him into a cooling warmth. This time around, the feeling is crisp. Sharp and vigorous. 

It punches the air out of his body as if it’s a physical force.  

The metal paneling beneath him shakes as the tips of his fingers and toes begin to tingle. Numbness crawls up his limbs, slowly taking over his entire body until he can register the feeling of being dragged. 

The haze clouds around him like smoke. He falls freely. 

He’s ripped from his own body, like a string being pulled and unraveling from a ball of yarn. It isn’t a painful experience, not at all—in fact, it’s all too familiar. Familiar enough that dread sweeps through his chest, all the way down to his gut. It twists and coils inside of him, harsh and violent in its own sickening way. 

He wishes for anything else, and he knows that he has to open his eyes to stop it. 

He has to pry them open and prove that he’s okay, that he’s still there on the training room floor, that the dreams aren’t as big of a deal as they seem to be, but exhaustion catches up with him like an old friend. It consumes him whole, overcoming any numbness he’d been feeling beforehand. 

The cold comes back, leaving goosebumps pricking across his arms. 

He falls and he falls, and he keeps falling until he can’t. 

A significant weight presses against his chest, oozing down his sides until it pools around his body. Trembling, he stays still, fingers digging down into whatever inky thing he lies on. They break through the thick, curling around nothing before he releases his grip. He continues his movements, fingers shaking. He keeps his eyes closed. 

Something shuffles beside him. 

“...Lance?” A voice breaks through the haze, shaky. Uncertain. 

It teeters the edge of hysterical and sends Lance’s torso shooting upwards like a vampire rising from a nap in their coffin. His entire body freezes, rigid. That voice... he knows that voice more than the other one he had heard. That voice haunts him every day, and he’s hearing it for the first time in seven months. 

Eyes prying themselves open, his vision is met with black, purple and blue. A whole galaxy spreads out in front of him, leaving him raw in open space. 

Lance sucks in a deep breath. He chokes on a wheeze, eyes bulging as he throws his hands up to clutch at his throat. Oxygen. There isn’t oxygen in space, especially not without his helmet on his head. He hadn’t been wearing a helmet before, right? If he had been, where did it go? 

Lance gasps again. His eyes sting. 

“Lance, what are you doing here?” 

Where is the voice coming from? 

He shuts his eyes, sealing them tight and clenching his hands together into tight fists at his side. A dream, that’s all this is. Just a weird memory. Voltron had probably fought somewhere in this bruise-colored galaxy. This has to have been a dream. Or—a weird mess up with the mind-meld devices. 

He holds his breath. He waits. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven. 

One, two, three, four, five, six, seven. 

His lungs... don’t burn. Not from the lack of oxygen. Not from anything. In fact, he feels kind of... light? Bubbly, even. 

Lance peeks an eye open only to be met by a pair of brown eyes.  

Lance definitely  _doesn’t_ scream like a girl as he throws a right hook toward the face of the apparition, for the record. He screams like a  _man_ as he punches the figure. 

Momentarily, he finds himself distracted as his arm flies. Blue sparks trail behind it, looking like a shooting star as his fist collides with pale skin. The other’s skin is fuzzy carbonation against his knuckles, shockingly wonted and nostalgic. The body jerks to the side, groaning as he covers the part of his face where Lance hit him. 

His body tenses into something rigid. His heart jumps, stopping like it’s been caught in a seatbelt as a car skids to a halt. The feeling’s profound, something he isn’t sure how to describe with eloquence. Everything just comes to a standstill. 

It’s like seeing a ghost. 

“Son of a… all right, that—that’s fair. I deserved that for jumping out,” Shiro grumbles as he rubs at the skin of his jaw. 

Somehow, in some sort of way, Shiro was kneeling in front of Lance. He stops rubbing his skin, which looked a little translucent and sparkly and— _purple._ His eyes never leave Lance’s, something somber about his aura as his gaze rakes over Lance’s face. His lips tug into a frown, shoulders sagging and hand falling down to his lap. 

Lance doesn’t... remember this. Not at all. Not—not one bit. 

His throat tightened, squeezing shut. He didn’t breathe, didn’t even try to. How could he? How  _dare_ he? 

The urge to say something, to reach out and hug the man in front of him, nearly chokes him. He wants to beg for answers to questions he doesn’t know, to tell him how sorry he is for what had happened, but as he opens his mouth to speak, only a small choking sound escapes instead of the words he needs. Something like a sob, or maybe he had retched, Lance doesn’t  _know_. 

Head swarming with endless thoughts and worries, Lance’s jaw falls slack. How could this be happening? Did he somehow die and—and now he’s in the afterlife? With Shiro? The earnest look spread across his former leader’s face only shakes him to the core.  

He prods his brain, thinking back to his last moments. He had stood with his team, he remembers their faces like the back of his hand, but everything in his head—important things like memories or the date or if he had a middle name—had turned to a murky gray. 

Turned to unfamiliar waters. 

He knows the Caribbean is far away. Millions of light years more than he had ever hoped or dreamed or even  _wanted_ to travel had shifted him away from home, and he’s... 

No.  _No_ , this couldn’t be happening. There’s no way. There’s no way in hell that he’s dead. The whole thing had to be a wishful hallucination—Lance couldn’t be dead, not now, not when— 

“You’re so young,” Shiro says quietly. Vanquished. “I’m so sorry, Lance,” 

Any air that might have lingered behind leaves him at once. 

He wonders, for a moment as he watches the man in front of him with nothing but stillness surrounding them for eternity, why he’s never cherished what it had felt like to breathe. The absolute of nothing that stirs inside of him now, something he never could even begin to fathom moments before, swallows him completely. 

“Shiro...” Lance’s voice cracks as he speaks, watery and wavering unsteadily. 

He doesn’t know what to do with the nothingness that punches a cavity inside of him. In his head, in his chest— it’s a gaping hole that continues to take and take and  _take_. 

Lance looks down at his hands. Unlike Shiro, he remains blessed with his tanned skin. His knuckles are still bruised from training, and... his armor isn't on. His jeans are still ratty and even though his baseball-sleeved shirt had grown a little snug around his arms over the months, it still fit him well enough, but... something’s off. 

“Lance... Hey, look at me—” 

Armor. Why isn’t he wearing his armor, like Shiro is? Lance had been doing something in it before he got to wherever he was. Had he been in the middle of a battle? Is that how he died? No... 

Training.  _Training._  Right, he had been training, working on mind-melding and connecting with his Lion. Hadn’t she roared for him before the fall? He remembers the floors shaking underneath him and he remembers the swift feeling of falling, crisp and sharp and vigorous around him, and... 

No... 

He hadn’t fallen. He had flown. 

A deep rumble wracks inside of him, shaking him down to the bone. Electricity shoots through his veins and leaves lines of gold mapping trails down his skin. They fade to deep purples, like the bruises he’s grown far too used to during his time in space before they faded to nothing. 

Something substantial tells Lance to close his eyes. He takes a deep breath and listens. 

One of the last things he registers before he comes to is the burdensome feeling that’s tangled in his chest, weaving itself around his lungs and between his ribs. It weighs him down, chaining him to the floorboards like a prisoner. 

Air floods his lungs, and he mends himself back together. 

What a taxing job it’ll be. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CHAPTER ONE BABEY!
> 
> So... I said this chapter would take a week to get out, you know, like a liar. I would apologize for how long it's taken me, but looking over what I've written, I find that I'm not at all sorry! I put a lot of effort into making sure that the exposition for this fic is perfect, and I'm not afraid to admit that I am very proud of how I've written the start to this story. I can't promise that I'll always have consistent updates, especially because of school and writer's block, but I can tell you that I love this story and I really want to share it with you guys, so thank you so much for sticking around!
> 
> Big ol’ thanks to my friends, Darcy (thespacenico on ao3 / taxashi on tumblr) and Keith (killproof on both ao3 and tumblr) for reading this over and helping me beta! Without their help, I probably would’ve wallowed in self-pity for another month before scrapping this project.
> 
> Also, once again, fuck Voltron. S8 sucked like we knew it would! I hope this fic works as a type of closure for you; that’s the main reason I’m writing it, anyway.
> 
> Thank you so much for reading! Comments and reviews are appreciated-- they help me write faster ;^)
> 
> \- Cato
> 
>  
> 
>   [tumblr](https://ghozting.tumblr.com) | [twitter](https://twitter.com/hoktril)


	3. ii. Meant to Be Alone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lance finds something and then he loses something, but he isn't sure in what order.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Potential Triggers in This Chapter:
> 
> \- drowning mention  
> \- nsfw jokes
> 
>  
> 
> Song That Inspired This Chapter:
> 
> Maybe We're Meant To Be Alone - Bad Suns

 

>>>

 

 

032520XX 

 

The cavity in his chest lingers like an old memory. It’s a distant feeling—a little hazy—but close enough for a flare of uncertainty to rattle inside of him like a caged bird. For him to remember the way panic had bubbled up his throat, ruthless and unmerciful. Close enough for him to remember his grasp on the almost-liquid, almost-airy floor that wasn’t really there. For him to remember the contact of his fist against Shiro’s skin that  _wasn’t really there_.  

He had flown an inch too close to the sun and his wax-made wings had melted underneath its blistering heat—and this time, he really does fall. 

He falls and he falls and he falls until he crashes. 

That’s where the haze sets in. The uncertainty. The fear.  

But then he wakes up. His eyes snap open and his entire body shoots forward with a choked gasp falling from his lips, sounding much like a name that’s grown forbidden to speak. 

White lights. Turquoise accents. Friends— _family_.  

Right. He had an audience for his little spill.  

His teammates sit before him, each of their faces squeezed into something shocked and if he were being completely honest, a little confused. He can’t blame them—his head is still reeling, even after his eyes had begun to adjust to the harsh lights that reflect off of the metal walls and floors of the training deck.  

Sucking in a shuddering breath, his body trembles. He tries to ignore the way his head throbs, but it warps his thoughts into an incoherent mess, sending everything off kilter as he tries to even his breathing and shove his nausea aside. 

Nothing can stop the way his heart hammers against his chest—he can feel bruises blossoming against his ribcage like the flowers in his mother’s garden. But there’s something else that’s thrumming underneath the surface of his skin, something that makes the hair stand up on the back of his neck and his brows to pinch together in concentration. 

In front of him, the projections of the team's individual Lions’ are locked together like puzzle pieces. Voltron is formed, right in front of his eyes, even with one Paladin down. 

As soon as his eyes make contact with the hologram, the visual glitches. Static fills the cracks. The image flickers, and for a moment, as Lance clenches his teeth together and embraces the jolt that’s sent through his temples the best that he can in his state, he thinks that it’ll stay. That somehow, things will be okay. 

It blinks away. The slight pang in his head softens back to a dull throb. 

He can feel his face fall. 

An eruption of something bitter flares inside of him as Pidge reaches out to the hologram as if she could grab hold of the projection of the mech and keep it there, safe with the rest of them. 

Her movement makes the room spin and Lance’s eyes flutter shut. He tries to swallow down a heavy gag. 

The haze still clouds his head despite everything, now feeling sempiternal. Any bit of energy that he had stored in his body sweeps out of him at a rapid rate, and from the way that sweat that glides past his temple, down against the planes of his cheekbones, it doesn’t seem like he’ll be able to gain it back until he goes to sleep. 

“What...just happened?” Hunk asks, his voice cracks unabashedly loud. 

Lance winces, squeezing his eyes shut and hiking his shoulders up to his ears. Something hot rolls around in the pit of his stomach, heavy and threatening to make its way up to his chest toward his throat. Lance isn’t sure how to answer that question, and with the sickness that threatens to erupt out of him, he isn’t even going to make an effort to try. 

“We can ask questions later, Hunk,” Keith says after a moment of ear-piercing silence. “Lance, maybe we should take you to a pod. You look really pale.” 

A pod wouldn’t help him with non-physical issues. It might ease the sickness that boils inside of him, but so would a glass of water and another nap. 

So, Lance says, “No.” His voice comes out a bit harsh, and he can see the way Keith inwardly flinches at his tone. He should feel bad, but—Lance doesn’t  _need_  a pod, he just needs a moment to gather his bearings. He cracks his eyes open and shakes his head. His head aches again but he manages to hold back a wince. “No, that’s not... I’m A-OK, Mullet.” He assures through a thinly veiled smile. 

Keith watches him for a second, expression crumbling underneath their eye contact. The worry on his face shifts into something bitter, and then quietly resigned as he peels his eyes away from Lance’s. A surge of guilt coils inside of Lance’s chest, but he smothers it, eyes moving away from Keith and down to the floors. 

He wants to ask so many questions. What happened? Did they see anything? If so, then what? How long was he out anyway? But as his teammates continue to watch him with impenetrable gazes, Lance knows that there is no way that they can tell him things that he hasn’t already figured out for himself. 

The silence that fills the room is like rushing water. It renders him helpless and looking for some sort of lifeline, which—is ridiculous. He wasn’t a lifeguard back at home three summers straight for nothing. 

 _You’d think that you’d know how to deal with drowning._  

Pidge, probably uncomfortable with the situation considering her fumbling hands, blurts out, “Your dream projected to the rest of us.” 

Lance’s eyes bulge and he snaps his head over to her direction. Pidge meets his eyes for a second before her gaze darts back down to her lap. She adjusts her glasses, nose wrinkling as she blinks toward the floor. 

Her voice comes out tight as she further explains, “You know, because of the mind-meld thing. We were able to see... everything.” 

A small breath slips from Lance. Mortification flushes hot against his neck, hiking up to his ears alongside his shoulders. He mirrors her position, staring down at the floor with round eyes. His throat tightens around nothing and he tries to swallow the uncomfortable lump. It’s too icy for him to even try more than once. 

They saw his dream. They saw the panic, his helplessness, his fear— 

His body sprouts fractals of crystallized ice inside of his chest.  

They had seen Shiro, too. 

“Oh.” He says, weak and unsure of how to respond. He wants to apologize for some reason. He does. 

“Is that... what they’re usually like?” Pidge presses, ignoring his apology and leaning closer. “The dreams, I mean?” 

Lance sighs. He lets his hair fall into his eyes to shield his face as he picks at the armored boots on his feet, eyes zeroing in on anything but his friends’ eyes. What is there to tell them, anyway? His dreams just bothered him, there isn’t any real problem to focus on. Pidge shouldn’t sound so— _concerned_. 

“No, they’re—” Lance glances up, meeting Hunk’s eyes for a moment. He holds contact before he looks back down toward the floor. He shifts in his seat, eyebrows knitting together. “They’re not. I don’t know what was up with that dream, but they aren’t usually that...” 

“Intense?” 

“Scary?” 

“Fucking  _weird_?” 

Lance huffs out a humorless chuckle. “Yeah. That.” 

Another wave of silence crashes over them, and Lance has to hold himself back from shying away from his friends. A small part of him feels almost light— the fact they seem so worried about him is validating, especially since it isn’t that big of a deal, but it doesn’t stop the guilt that seeps its way through every fiber of his being. 

His dreams are getting so bad that he’s exhausted and falling asleep during training; he has to figure out a way for them to leave him alone, or for him to at least maximize the sleep he gets. The sleeping pills Pidge had offered beforehand might help, but when would their next stop at a planet with the supplies be? How long can he keep this up? 

He thinks back to earlier when he had been sleeping in the Blue Lion. She had somehow protected him against the bad dreams and he got a good two-hour nap in. He’d slept three hours the night before, too, so shouldn’t that have been enough for him to have a productive day? He used to only get five hours of sleep back at the Galaxy Garrison when he’d sneak into the simulator and spend most nights studying. Even Pidge slept less than that, and she was a fourteen-year-old! Isn’t she supposed to get like, ten hours of sleep per night? 

Why is he falling apart like this? 

 _You’ve been thinking of Shiro_ , his brain supplies.  _It was his birthday a few weeks ago._  

Lance presses his lips into a thin line. 

 _He died out here. He never got to go home—not really, not like he deserved to. Does his family miss him? They think he’s dead. They’ve been suffering from his loss for almost two years and—_  

 _Does my family miss me too?_  

Another wave of nausea rolls around inside of him and he almost fails to hold back a heave. His chest aches and his stomach is heavy and his arms are practically anchoring him to the floor and his throat is tight and— 

There was no way that the nightmares are because he misses home. He’s been dealing with homesickness since well before he and the rest of the Paladin’s came to space. 

He hasn’t been home in a little over a  _year._ While he was used to only spending three and a half months in Cuba when he went home from school for break, the longer he spends away from Matanzas, the more his heart longs to go back. 

He then thinks back to his dream, the one he had during his nap.  

He had been on the beach, right? The sand, the music…it was all so familiar, just like the pull inside of his chest, the tugging of his heart. 

He really misses his family. He misses  _home_. 

Will he ever get to go back? To see Varadero, to lay in his bedroom with his space posters on the walls and the blankets his father had knitted before he died? With the framed pictures his abuela took every time they had a family reunion? 

A voice, bone-chillingly familiar, whispers a mantra in the back of his mind,  _You’re so young. You’re so young. You’re so—_  

“Hey, Lance…” Hunk’s voice rips him out of his head. 

He blinks the mist away from his eyes and slowly lifts his head, turning his attention to Hunk as the thoughts that spin through his mind die down. Hunk holds a second mind-meld device in his hands, eyebrows scrunching a wrinkle above his nose.  

He knows that look. His heart grows heavy.  

“Yeah, buddy?” He asks anyway. 

Hunk bites down on his lip. “How about we get you back to your room?” He says after his shoulders sag a bit. 

Lance breathes out a small sigh. “Yeah, okay.” 

Hunk stands first, holding his hand out for Lance to latch on to. He pulls him up and catches his shoulders between his wide palms before Lance can stumble back to the floor. 

Lance mumbles a soft, “thanks,” and leans half of his weight on to his best friend. 

As he and Hunk make their way out the door, Lance looks back at his friends. 

Pidge is staring at the floor with a tight expression, bottom lip jutted out and unkempt brows twitching. She mumbles something to herself, probably a curse, and then scrubs underneath her glasses with the heels of her palm.  

Keith looks back at Lance with a poorly-concealed frown and a soft gaze. The lines underneath his eyes grow more prominent with the distance between them. 

Their eyes meet a second before the doors to the training deck slide shut. Keith doesn’t look away, and Lance doesn’t either. Somehow, he’s drawn to the other’s gaze. There’s a sad, wistful look in his eyes that makes Lance’s heart lurch. 

When the doors shut, the sealing hiss is quiet this time around—or maybe Lance is just that detached as Hunk pulls him along the cold corridors. 

Keith’s eyes still burn his skin despite the metal paneling between them. He’s just looking out for Lance, he knows that but… 

Somehow, it makes him feel worse. 

 

 

>>> 

 

 

The ocean looks beautiful underneath the moonlight. Everything’s painted shades of blue, from the chilly sand he lays out against to the shells that the ocean drags up to the shore. Even his skin, a warm tawny color, has taken a cooler hue in the darkness of the night. 

He can’t exactly feel the tears on his face, but he knows they’re there, just as he knows that he’s sitting on a secluded spot on Varadero Beach, surrounded by memories that, with time, are wearing thin. 

Even when he dreams of home, when he hears his family laughing together a few yards away, unaware of his brooding, he feels so far away. He can blame his own distance, sure, but he knows this night well. He knows that even if he were home, if he were back on Earth, he’d want the space. 

It’s funny now that he’s really thinking about it. 

A voice startles him. "Lance, ¿por qué no venir y unirse a la fiesta?"

He turns his head to the side as a rush of something chilly overcomes him. His skin rises with goosebumps and as he meets his older sister’s eyes, he knows that he can’t blame the windy night. He couldn’t three years ago, and he can’t now. Some things, he thinks, never change. 

“It’s nothing, Vero,” Lance says back to her through the cotton stuffed in his mouth. 

He holds her blue eyes for a second before he looks back out toward the ocean. He watches the water creep up the sand before it slips away once more. The waves aren’t dangerous at this time tonight, but he wonders what they’re like back on Earth right now. 

It’s quiet for a second before Veronica scoffs. She takes a few steps closer before she plops down into the sand, bare feet digging small holes in the white grain. She moves her hand forward and brushes sand on top of them, making small mounds above her skin. The sand shifts as she wiggles her toes. 

“I’m going with you, you know.” She says after a moment, eyes trained on the horizon. He wonders what she’s looking for. 

“Yeah, I know,” He replies, earnest. He chooses his next words carefully. “It’s just going to be really different.  _I’m_  going to be really different.” He pauses for a moment. “I think I already am.” 

Veronica doesn’t usually have much to say, from what he remembers. She wasn’t isolated but Lance could remember the fine line between her and the rest of their family. Not to say she was an outlier, of course. People loved Veronica as much as they loved everyone else, but she was more... detached. She didn’t live in Cuba full-time, she lived in the Chihuahuan Desert in the United States at a military base, almost two-thousand miles away from the rest of them. And Lance? He had followed her two-thousand miles away from home so he could leave and go even further. 

It took him long enough to realize that he’s made the cut for that line as well. 

“Is that so bad?” Veronica questions as she peels her eyes away from the ocean and faces Lance. Her expression is contorted into something weird, something he hasn’t seen on her in a long time. He doesn’t think that he likes it. “We’re always changing, Lance. You know—we're never who we once were. We say goodbye to ourselves every chance we get.” 

Lance offers her a weak chuckle. “Is she still mad at me? For choosing to go?” He knows the answer but he asks anyway. 

Veronica stills next to him. He can feel her eyes boring holes into his skin, but he keeps his eyes on the water as if he’s in a trance. In a weird sort of way, he was. All he wants to do is run into the ocean and swim. Swim until this memory is nothing but that. Swim until he wakes up in his bed in the Castle, where the rest of his friends are. How long has he been asleep? Are they mad at him for showing them the dream? 

Veronica sighs. “Does it really matter?” 

Lance grits his teeth. “Guess not.” 

“Aren’t you excited?” 

He looks over to her. “I feel like I’m dreaming.” He says with a dry voice. 

Veronica rolls her eyes so hard that her eyelids flutter. It makes him think of Keith, of him knocking on the Blue Lion’s particle barrier insistently with a dopey grin on his face. He immediately shoves the thought away, heart beating faster. He knows that he’ll wake up sooner than he’d like.  

But—maybe Veronica and Keith would get along. They’d be a dangerous duo. 

Sitting there, he thinks that really wants them to meet. 

“You’re such an ass,” Veronica says. “I’m over here  _supporting_ you and trying to make sure you're okay, and you whip out the sarcasm. When you’re traveling through space in like, ten years, I hope you remember this moment.” 

Lance’s body runs cold at her words but he barks out a laugh anyway. “How could I forget?” 

 

 

>>> 

 

 

032620XX 

 

Everything happens so quickly. 

One moment, he’s standing in front of the metal doors, bracing himself before they open, and the next, there’s shouting—strained and panicked as he takes his first step into the room. He can’t get a good eye on the situation; sleep still pulls at him and his limbs are practically cooked noodles, and his eyes might be a little blurry, but he can see that people are moving in the room and they are moving  _fast_. 

There’s a cry, the scuttle of boots that squeak against the tile, and a wicked laugh. It scares him more than he’d like to admit. He can’t even register what’s going on, but there’s a nozzle pointed toward him, aiming to take the kill shot. His eyes widen as the fingers pull the trigger, but he’s frozen on the spot. 

“Lance,  _no_!” 

A hand grips the back of his head and his waist. A figure clouds his vision as he’s shoved to the side, a heavy body blocking the shot that was taken. When he falls back from the force, his head is protected against hitting the floor. He can hear the sound it makes once it hits the person—a wet squelch that that rips a shudder throughout his body. He gags at the smell.  

Lance blinks and looks down at the body that is sprawled against his lap. Keith lays limp, hands having fallen away from their protective grip on Lance’s body to rest against his own torso, awkwardly bent. Lance’s eyes move down to his side where there’s a wet stain against his dark shirt, where he had been shot. A gasp works its way out of his throat and he moves down to gently clutch the back of Keith’s head. His hand weaves into the strands of black hair, silky against his fingers. 

His head snaps up, lips falling open and trembling as he prods his brain, forcing his way out of the momentary shock. “You... you  _shot_ him!” He cries out. “How could you-!?” 

Towering over him stands Pidge. Her eyes are shielded by her glasses, unable to be seen from the glare from the kitchen’s lights. A wicked smile curls against her lips, teeth-baring violently before she blows the end of the nozzle to their food-goo supply. Keith poorly conceals a snicker below him. 

“It doesn’t matter, now.” She says, lifting her chin up. The shine in her glasses leaves, revealing her red-rimmed eyes. Lance wants to pause  _whatever_ they’re doing and ask her what’s wrong, but before he can even begin to find a way to ask, Pidge must have decided that her villain monologue wasn’t over and she continues with, “Your friend sacrificed everything to save you, and now it’s  _your_  turn to die—” 

The door that leads back out to the hallway opens. Pidge and Lance both turn their head toward the intruder. 

Hunk stands there, blinking at the three of them. He meets Lance’s eyes before he looks down to Keith, and then over to Pidge. After that, his eyes trail across the floors and the walls of the room that surrounds them, and the bemused face he once had drops into something exasperated. 

“You guys were going to leave this mess here, weren’t you?” He grumbles the question, but it comes out as more of a statement. It’s something Lance knows he can’t deny, so instead, he avoids the question as he does best. 

“Hey!” Lance says, “Keith’s dead! Have some respect!” 

“Yeah, Hunk, I’m  _dead.”_  

“Yeah! Don’t be rude, Hunk! Come on!” 

Hunk throws his hands up in defense. Despite the tough love they barrel him with, Hunk’s lips quirk into an amused smile as he steps into the room. He crosses their path, making sure to avoid clumps of lime colored goo that has collected on the floors and the sides of the counters. He rummages in a cupboard for a moment before he tosses two rags in Pidge’s direction. 

Pidge catches the cloth, letting the hose for their food machine slink back into the wall before she throws the other rag in Keith’s direction.  

“How come Lance doesn’t have to clean?” Pidge whines as he drops down on her knees to scoop some of the substance up. 

Hunk ignores her. 

Keith, however, takes Pidge’s comment (and most likely the towel thrown at his face) as a cue, and he moves off of Lance’s lap and begins cleaning alongside Pidge. He seems to have forgotten about the glob on his shirt considering he pays no attention to the wet patch that’s spread across his ribs. 

Lance nudges at him with his foot after he stands on to his feet. Keith sends him a glare and flicks a bit of the goo at him before he turns back to the mess he and Pidge had made together. 

Lance watches him for a second, lips curling down before he stretches. He winces as a sharp sting jolts down his right arm. He rolls his shoulder, sighing as he thinks back to training yesterday.  

He almost forgot about that. 

“I can’t believe you slept for nearly twenty-four hours,” Hunk says partially to himself as he reaches up to the higher cupboards. He pulls out a bowl and grabs for a nozzle for the food goo and fills it up with a hefty serving. “I was about to drag you to a pod—I was worried you’d fallen into some sort of coma!” 

He shakes his head and then shoves the bowl of food into Lance’s hand. Lance looks down at it helplessly before he glances back up at Hunk. It’s not that he isn’t hungry—his stomach’s practically screaming to be filled with piles upon piles of food goo (which, scarily, sounds  _delicious_  right now)—he’s just a little concerned with the way Hunk’s brow furrows down. He seems almost…angry? 

Lance watches him, eyeing his best friend carefully. “You should’ve woken me up, man,” he says after a moment, lips dipping into a frown. Hunk narrows his eyes at him. Lance continues a bit hastily with, “I shouldn’t have slept that long anyway. There is such a thing as too much beauty sleep, you know! The ladies and gentlemen of the universe can hardly handle my looks as is.” He pauses. “Plus, something could’ve happened. If I weren’t awake to help fight off the Empire—” 

“You know we’ve been focusing on diplomacy,” Pidge peeks her head up from behind the counter as she speaks. “The Galra have been really hush-hush lately.” 

“They’re floundering, obviously.” Hunk replies quickly to her, but his eyes never leave Lance’s. 

It’s unsettling, to say the least. 

“Can I eat while you stare into my soul, or…?” Lance asks.  

Hunk sighs and hands him a spork. Lance gives him a smile filled to the brim with gratitude and then leans his back against the island before he shovels a spoonful of the green goo. He hums around the utensil after his first bite and it doesn’t take long for him to start barreling the food into his mouth. 

“Dude,” Keith stands up from where he scrubbed at the walls, eyes narrowing in Lance’s direction. He glares at him for a second before Keith’s eyes move away from his, looking down at his chin. His expression softens. “If you keep eating so fast you’re going to get the hiccups.” 

“Buht I’m starfing,” Lance replies through a mouthful of food. 

“ _Eugh_. Close your mouth.” Keith says back, lips curling in disgust. “No one wants to see that.” 

“Tha lof of my life whill!” Lance argues. 

“I can assure you that they won’t,” Keith says back, but he’s smiling at Lance with something fond in his gray-blue eyes. Now that Lance has a good look, Keith actually has a dimple in his left cheek, and it only makes Lance smile wider. 

He swallows down his food before he sets down the half-empty bowl on top of the counter. Pidge pops up from the floor and scuttles over toward the sink, rising the rag underneath the running water. She watches as the green globs crumble off of the cloth before she looks up to the other three. 

“How come Lance doesn’t have to clean?” She asks again as Keith nudges her out of the way to rise off his own rag. 

“I’m mourning,” Lance says back through a yawn. “Keith died in my arms, Pidge.” 

“Also, he came in at the last minute,” Keith mumbled as he scrubbed at the rag in his hands. 

“Thank you, Ghost-Mullet!” 

“Yeah, yeah.” 

Hunk breathes out a quiet chuckle. He turns to his side and picks up the bowl of goo before handing it back to Lance, eyeing him and then his breakfast with a hint of a threat in his eyes. Lance groans before he picks up the spork that lays on the edge of the bowl and scoops another spoonful into his mouth. He chews it thoroughly before swallowing it, sending glares at Hunk as he does. 

“Oh, hey, before I forget,” Keith says, catching both Lance and Hunk’s attention. Lance turns his head away from his staring match with Hunk and meets Keith’s eyes, tilting his head curiously as Keith glances up from the sink. “I’m supposed to take you to see Allura.” 

Lance knits his brows together and runs his tongue over his teeth. Allura wanted to talk to him? Why? Was it because he had slept in? A frown takes his lips, pulling at the corners of his mouth ever so slightly. It was hardly noticeable, even to Lance, but an odd look crosses Keith’s face that reminds him of how he looked the day prior. 

“I hope she hasn’t been waiting long,” Lance says. 

He glances over to Hunk before he hands him back his bowl. Hunk takes it, but not before he eyes Keith with a cautious look. Keith keeps his eyes on Lance. His face is blank, but his eyes hold something more that Lance can’t seem to figure out. 

“She hasn’t,” Keith replies after a solid moment. “Don’t—it’s fine, I think they just wanted to check on you. I can take you whenever you’re ready.” 

Lance nods and pats his hands down on his jeans, looking for his phone for a moment before he realizes he doesn’t have it with him anymore. He breathes out a ghost of a chuckle before he pushes himself off of the counter and stuffs his hands into his pocket. 

“We can go now. Don’t want to keep her royal highness waiting.” He says as he peels himself away from Hunk and Pidge. 

Keith nods his head and sets down his cloth. He looks over to Pidge for a moment before he looks back at Lance and nods over toward the exit. 

They leave the room together and set off down one of the many hallways in the castle. He keeps his hands stuffed into his pockets, elbows sticking out and occasionally hitting Keith’s arm. 

He apologizes and Keith huffs out a quiet, “It’s fine,” with no other comments. He doesn’t make an effort to talk, which Lance knows is normal, but there’s a pinch to his face that  _isn’t_. 

Something must have changed since yesterday. Keith was friendly a couple of minutes ago when they were with everyone else, but now that they’re alone together, it feels like there’s something tense that’s stirring between them. 

He thinks of yesterday when he left the training deck. His throat tightens. Keith had seen his dream, so that means he saw  _Shiro_. 

Lance tries his hardest to make sure the breath he takes doesn’t sound too panicked. Was Keith mad at him for making him see Shiro? He has to know that it was an accident, right? 

The oxygen in the air feels thin. His hands twitch in his pockets. 

He teeters on the edge of asking Keith if he’s okay. He doesn’t know how to ask him outright—he doesn’t think that he can. When did he start feeling so nervous in front of Keith? He couldn’t be upset with him; there’s no reason for him to be. 

And yet… 

Lance sighs quietly.  

They’re only a few turns away until they reach the elevator when he looks to his side and notices that Keith had stopped walking next to him. A few feet behind him, Keith stands idle in the center of the hallway, arms crossed over his chest. His hair shields his eyes and most of his face, but something negative radiates off of him in thick waves. 

“You stopped walking,” Lance says. 

“Great detective skills,” Keith mutters, glaring down at the floor. He isn’t sure what to say to that, so instead, he just keeps a small frown on his face and his eyes trained on Keith. Keith clears his throat. “I just, uh. Before we go down to the Lion’s den, I wanted to talk to you about something.” 

The dread settles in. Keith doesn’t sound mad, thankfully, but Lance doesn’t like how he refuses to meet his eyes. 

There’s a pause. The air is too still. 

 _Don’t think about the dream. Don’t think about the dream. Don’t—_  

“Sure, man,” Lance replies warmly. “The floor’s all yours.” 

Keith glances up at him. He opens his mouth, growls, and then turns his head to the side. Lance is pretty sure one of his fangs is caught on his bottom lip, but he doesn’t say anything. He waits for Keith to gather the words that he'd like to speak, and unsure of what to do until then, he takes a few tentative steps closer to him. 

“Listen,” Keith says after a second. “I know you’re going through some stuff—er, more like  _everyone_  knows…since we all saw what happened yesterday afternoon.” 

Lance shifts his weight from his right leg to his left. He crosses his arms over his chest. Keith watches him with a weird mix of a scowl and a pout on his face. 

“Uh…Yeah. Okay. What’s your point, Mullet?” Lance asks impatiently. 

“Don’t be a jerk, Lance,” Keith says, stepping closer. There’s only about a foot between them now, give or take. Lance swallows. He doesn’t step back. Actually, he feels a little  _hot_. There’s probably something wrong with the Castle’s cooling systems or something. “I know you’re avoiding talking about whatever’s happening… and I get that you don’t want to talk to us about it because it’s—a lot. I just want to make sure that you’re okay.” Keith quietly adds. 

Some of the tension eases out of Lance at Keith’s words, but he stays on guard. Keith’s unpredictable and he’s good at manipulating situations to his advantage—he can’t get distracted, no matter how much personal space he’s taken away from Lance. 

What does he even say to that? Everyone knows that it’s affecting him in a negative way, and he hates that they’re dragging themselves into his mess, too. It’s like…totally regressing, right? The rest of the team were slowly moving on from Shiro’s passing, and Lance just shoved something the equivalent of a bad memory in their faces like,  _hahaha, look what I’ve got!_  

He has to play the defensive route. Just keep lying and Keith will back off. No big deal. Keith understands what it means to want some peace! He’ll let it go, easy-peasy. 

“Stop worrying about me. I’m just peachy, Mullet.” He assures with a tight-lipped smile.  

Keith deflates a little. Hook, line, and sinker. 

“Are you?” 

Or not. 

“You haven’t been the same since—I don’t know, it’s been a long time, dude,” Keith says. “You’re kind of different nowadays?” 

“Well, says  _you_.” Lance counters. His palms are growing clammy and the dread comes back at full force. “Since when did you start wanting to talk about things? Who are you and what did you do with Keith?” 

“ _Lance_ ,” Keith hisses, eyes narrowing in his direction. 

He’s getting irritated—Lance can work with this. He’s great at irritating Keith! He has a Ph.D. in pissing Keith off, and now he can use his skills to save his ass; he just has to make him annoyed enough to leave and go brood somewhere that’s  _less_  annoying, and then Lance will be in the clear! 

“That’s my name.” He nearly sings, turning on his heel to move back down the hallway. He isn’t sure where their final destination is, but Keith will probably steer him in the right direction once he reaches the elevator—it’s just what he does. 

“That’s not how this works!” Keith calls as he chases after him. 

If Lance picks up the pace, Keith doesn’t call him out on it or even ask him to slow down. Instead, he grabs at Lance’s shoulder in an attempt to catch him and ends up hitting the bruise that takes residence against Lance’s skin. Lance sucks in a lung-piercing breath as Keith’s fingers dig into him. He wrings his way out of his grasp and shoots a dirty look in Keith’s direction, body turned halfway to face him. 

He doesn’t run away again, no matter how much he wants to. They’re only a few steps away from the elevator, anyway, it’d be pointless for him to attempt an escape now. 

Something must show on his face. Keith clenches his hands into fists at his sides, not trying to grab for him again.  

Anger is a good look for Keith. His brows are heavy and his eyes are full of emotion that makes him almost easy to read. He glares up at Lance, never moving out of his personal space but instead clenching his jaw. He’s irritated, and a chilly thrill rushes through Lance at the familiar stony expression he holds.  

He can feel the beginnings of a smile pull at his lips but he tries his hardest to remain impassive. He doesn’t know what’ll happen if his resolve breaks, and laughing in Keith’s face because of how cute he looks when he’s mad isn’t going to help their little tiff. 

“Stop avoiding my question by countering them with  _other_  questions!” Keith growls.  

Wait. Did he just refer to Keith as cute? Lance sputters for a moment and then shoves the thought aside. He can’t get distracted in the middle of an argument and now isn’t the time to think too deeply on some thrown-off comment his brain makes. 

“Mine are more interesting than yours!” Lance says back, “For all I know, you could just be some  _alien_ —” 

“Newsflash, Lance!” Keith says, tossing his hands outwardly for emphasis. “I  _am_  ‘just some alien’! And—and you’re being a bitch!” 

There’s a pause. 

Keith’s expression melts from annoyed to confused, and Lance can’t help it when a few giggles make their way past his lips. Before he knows it, his head is thrown back and he’s cackling an ugly laugh as Keith watches him helplessly. 

“What—stop laughing!” Keith snaps. “Shut up!” 

Lance doesn’t. Keith even breathes out a few chuckles. 

“God, I can’t believe you! You’re such a dick!” Keith says. 

“I thought—” Lance wheezes, leaning forward so his head falls on Keith’s shoulder. He ignores the way he tenses underneath his touch and instead tries to catch his breath. “I thought I was a bitch?” 

Keith places his hands against his chest and shoves him away. Lance stumbles backward, laughing all the while he does so. He tries to grab for Keith’s hands to reel himself back in, but Keith is adamant toward slapping his hands away. 

There’s a bright smile across his face, and his eyes crinkle at the corners of his eyes and—yeah, anger is a good look on Keith, but so is joy. 

“You  _suck_ ,” Keith says between his own laughter. 

A grin pulls on to Lance’s face. “You swallow.” 

Keith rolls his eyes at him. 

“Real mature.” He then pauses, and the smile on his face slips away. “I’m still mad at you.” 

“You’re not mad at me.” He assures, watching as Keith’s expression shifts into something incomprehensible, “You can’t be that upset over nothing, Mullet. I made you smile!” 

“Yeah, you’re good at that,” Keith says softly. 

Lance’s mouth clamps shut and before he can even process what he had said, Keith makes a funny face. 

“But it’s not  _nothing_ , Lance.” Keith quickly adds, lips pulling into a frown. “Obviously it isn’t when you’re pulling yourself away like you have been.” 

Lance swallows. “I haven’t been…” 

“No, I’m talking now. You get to shut up and listen.” Keith says. “We haven’t hung out in forever, and you usually manage to divide your time to share with everyone. But lately, you’re training alone or spending time in your room or with your cow. And—and you’re usually the one who’s doing this whole talking thing! So if it’s me coming to you, practically begging on my knees for you to talk to literally  _anyone_  about what’s going on, even if it’s just to check in, then—then there’s a problem. And it’s a big deal.” 

There’s another shift in the universe. 

The words leave Lance looking for some sort of purchase to stabilize himself, so he grabs on to Keith’s shoulders. He offers a small squeeze alongside a crooked smile. It’s shy—he feels  _shy_ , and he isn’t sure why. 

Keith stares up at him, lips falling open as his hands wrap around Lance’s forearms. There’s something akin to wonder that floats around in his eyes, which are starting to look more purple than the indigo he had previously thought they were. They sort of remind him of the midnight sky… 

(—crashing waves, stars littering the sky, someone sitting next to him in the sand and a pang of homesickness flaring in his chest—) 

“Lance?” 

Keith’s voice breaks him out of his haze. 

Lance blinks away the dreamy dust from his eyes and shakes his head a bit as if it can wipe away the memory and reset his brain. Keith watches him with a frown on his face, and the joy from moments ago is nowhere to be seen. His heart lurches. Is it weird to ache to see it again?  

“Sorry, I was just remembering…” Lance’s brows twitch. 

Keith watches him, expression open and hopeful and— 

“Aren’t we supposed to go meet Allura?” 

Keith clenches his jaw. “Yep.” He works out after a second. There’s something about his tone that makes Lance’s stomach drop.  “She’s in the Black Lion’s chamber. I’m sure you remember your way there.” 

“Oh, come on,  _Keith_ —” 

“No, I get it.” He grumbles as he rips himself away from Lance. He dusts off his shoulders as if Lance contaminated his shirt with his germs and he once again doesn’t make an effort to meet his eyes. “If you’re going to refuse to talk about it, then there’s no point in wasting my time caring.”  

“That’s not—now you’re just being dramatic.” Lance pushes his hair out of his face and holds it back with his hand. He’s tired of arguing with Keith—he knows that he means the best, that he has good intentions, but… “It’s just that you wouldn’t get it, okay?” 

“That’s not the point!” Keith says, a bit hysterical. Lance clenches his jaw. “I mean, Jesus, Lance! You have permanent bags underneath your eyes. I haven’t seen you smile for real in weeks! You’re snappy and quiet and I’m worried! We’re all worried!” 

“Okay, and I’m sorry that you’re worried, but it isn’t—” 

“I swear to  _God_  if you say it isn’t a big deal—” 

“I didn’t ask for you to worry about me! I don’t want you to!” Lance snaps. 

Keith clenches his fists, knuckles turning white. “I don’t think that’s your decision to make.” He grits. 

Lance closes his eyes as if it could somehow collect the anger that’s burning his bones inside of him and smother the flames. It doesn’t work, and he knows that as he opens his mouth to say more, he’s screwing up—yet it somehow doesn’t make him shut up like he knows he should. 

Maybe it’s because of the constant bad dreams that don’t leave his head, or maybe it’s because of Keith’s aggravating persistence that edges on being uncomfortable, but the cord inside of Lance splinters and then it snaps apart. 

He’s filled to the brim with a dark feeling. It burns hotter than any fire he’s felt. It engulfs him—fast and ruthless and catastrophic. It’s a fit of familiar anger, one he hasn’t felt since before he left home for the first time, and that thought alone helps smother it— 

“Just fuck  _off_ , Keith. I never even wanted to talk to you about this to begin with, okay?” 

—but it’s still too late. 

He wants Keith to fight back. He wants him to yell at him, insult him with that bitter tone he’s had ever since Lance had first seen him back at the Garrison, but instead, his words hang in the air. 

The corridor is quiet other than the soft thrumming of electricity behind the walls. He can hear the echoes of laughter from his other friends, boisterous and happy and so unlike he and Keith that it hurts. It hurts to hear, hurts to know that moments ago, both he and Keith were laughing too. 

The elevator sings and the doors shuffle open. 

“Oh!” Allura’s standing there, wide eyes blinking as she looks at the two. She morphs her expression into something tamer. “I was just coming to look for you two…” She falls quiet as her eyes move away from Lance over to Keith. He watches her face melt into something concerned. 

He follows her gaze. 

When his eyes find Keith again, guilt rushes him fast enough to steal his breath away. It breaks down any defenses he built up, leaving him open and ready for a counter attack. But there isn’t one—there won’t be one, because Keith is a good friend. Because Keith cares about him. 

He doesn’t just look hurt by Lance’s flat-out rejection, he looks  _gutted_. His eyes hold the same look they did yesterday—vexed and a little lost as they flick across his face— except now there’s a heavy layer of sadness on top of them that punches Lance in the gut, again and again, each second he stares at him. 

It’s the way he holds himself, though—that’s what really gets Lance. He looks stricken, shoulders wound up tight and body taut like he’s holding his breath. Like he’s waiting for the other shoe to drop. For Lance to come right out and say,  _actually I’ve always hated you and I don’t want to be your friend and I’ve been lying about caring about you and your feelings for the last few months! LOL!_  

He doesn’t know why the thought terrifies him, but it does. 

The air leaves him all at once. “Keith, I’m—” 

Keith cuts him off. “You really don’t sound like yourself, Lance.” His voice is chillingly sable as he speaks, but there’s a hint of something in his words that leaves something painful settling inside of Lance. “So… I’m gonna go. When you get all of your  _shit_  situated, you can come to find me. But until then… don’t bother.” 

Keith hardly spares Allura a glance before he turns and stalks off. His pace isn’t that fast—in fact, there’s something sluggish about the way he carries himself as he moves down the long stretch of the sterile hallway. 

Lance can follow him—he  _should_  follow him. He should chase after him and apologize and beg on his knees for forgiveness. He  _knows_  that Keith is just trying to be a good friend—and he  _is_  a good friend, he’s one of Lance’s  _best_  friends and— 

Keith turns the corner, disappearing from his sight. Lance’s shoulders fall. He’s really tired all of a sudden. He fights off the urge to go back to his room and crawl underneath the sheets and sleep. 

“Did something happen between you two?” Allura asks after a moment of silence. Her voice comes out a little awkward, and it’s weird to hear her like that, but Lance doesn’t linger on the thought for long. His chest hurts and his mind is otherwise occupied by the memory of Keith’s expression from moments before. 

“Yeah,” He sighs before he scrubs his face with the heels of his palm. He breathes out a weak laugh before his hands drop to his sides, hanging heavily. “I was being...stupid. We got into a fight.” 

Allura crosses her arms over her chest. She purses her lips as she stares down the corridor before her eyes dart over to Lance. There’s something concerned in her bright blue eyes, and as he stares into her pink pupils, he wonders if she’s preparing a lecture. It’d probably be something about how it’s important to manage good relationships with your teammates—something he’s heard from her before, long ago when he and Keith weren’t even  _friends_ —and for once in his miserable teenage life, Lance doesn’t want to hear her speak. 

But she surprises him, as she usually does, when she says, “I thought you two were really good friends.” 

He thinks it might be a question, but she words it as a remark that leaves him with hardly anything to say. He glances back down the hallway, halfway hoping that Keith would appear again and halfway hoping that he’d have the balls to run away from Allura to find him. But he doesn’t. Instead, Lance sighs again and looks back to Allura with a frown gracing his lips. 

“We are.” He assures a second later. It feels important to do so. 

Allura hums. She then nods her head back toward the elevator, a silent invitation for him to join her. He takes a few steps forward until he’s standing next to her. She presses one of the many buttons on the elevator, and as the door closes in front of them, the two fall into a stuffy silence. 

It doesn’t take long for the two to reach their destination. 

Unlike Keith, Allura doesn’t dawdle when she has somewhere to be. She walks with urgency as she weaves her way through the lower hallways of the castle ship. Lance practically has to jog to keep up with her pace, nearly losing her at every turn. 

They reach the Black Lion’s chamber pretty fast, to say the least. 

He has no idea why Allura is leading him down there—the Black Lion is honestly one of the last things he wants to see right now. It reminds him of everything bad—his dreams, Shiro… his fight with Keith.  

He releases a tiny sigh through his nose and shoves the thought away. He has to clear his mind—he can’t get distracted during this conversation, especially if it’s about something important.  

As the elevator doors open, revealing the Lion’s den, something cold brushes against the back of his mind.  

Instead of them being collapsed against the floors as they had been for the last seven months, the Black Lion is sitting up straight. There’s a purple particle barrier surrounding them. 

Their eyes are vacant, a lifeless void compared to how Blue’s look. The gold in their eyes is missing just like their pilot is. The thought sends a rush down Lance’s spine and leaves the hairs on the back of his neck standing alert. 

He takes a few steps closer to the Lion, eyes roaming along their exterior. They’re a little beaten up, as most of the Lions are, but the sheer size of the Lion makes the damage look much worse than it actually is. 

 _Don’t be disrespectful_ , something echoes in his head with a tenderness that’s alien to him. 

It doesn’t feel like Blue—his Lion has a sense of gentleness, a cozy chill to her that reminds him of a summer’s day. This feeling is different enough for him to notice. There’s still a crisp feeling, one that’s familiar in an odd way, but everything else is just—wrong, almost? 

 _Not wrong, just foreign_ , it assures. 

Lance swallows as his eyes roam up to the eyes of the Black Lion. 

“Whoa…” Lance’s eyes widen. “Is that  _you_?” He asks. 

 _Don’t get too excited, Paladin._  

“Is what who?” Allura says from next to him. 

Lance jumps, wide eyes snapping over to her. She stifles a giggle and mumbles an apology she doesn’t mean before she gestures at him expectantly. Lance swallows. 

“Uh—I’m hearing something.” He says before he frowns. “I mean, not  _actually_  hearing. It’s like… ideas and feelings that my brain roughly translates.” 

Allura cocks an eyebrow. “Is it your Lion?” 

Lance shakes his head. “No, Blue is… different.” Lance says as he turns his head to look back up toward the Black Lion. “I think this is the Black Lion.” 

Allura’s expression drops into something stunned. “What?” She demands, head snapping toward the Lion and then back toward Lance. She almost sounds as stunned as she looks. “The—The Black Lion responded?” 

Lance brings his hands up to his hair, clutching at the roots of the strands before an airy laugh slips out of him. He isn’t sure as to why he’s laughing—he sounds almost hysterical. 

“Yeah, they… did.” Lance mumbles. “I… is this normal? I usually only have Blue in my head.” He pauses, lips dipping into a frown. “It sort of feels the same as…” 

He clenches his jaw. 

“As what?” Allura presses after stumbling for words. 

“Well, yesterday during training…” Lance furrows his brows as he stares at the gentle ripples in the energy shield. “I passed out, I think—and I got one of those dreams again. But it felt different? I mean, it’s like I was awake while I was falling asleep. It had a similar feeling.” 

Allura looks away from Lance and brings her focus on to the Lion in front of the two. They’re silent now—there’s nothing in his head. Other than, like, his  _brain_ — 

And then a flare of amusement that is definitely not his own. 

“Keith told me what you saw,” Allura says, voice grim. It snaps him back into reality. “I wish I had been there to see it myself, but the Black Lion had roared and… well. I guess I was a little naïve for hoping that maybe…” 

Lance peels his eyes away from the mech and turns his attention to Allura. Hoping for what? Shiro? It takes a moment for her to look back at him, but when she does, there’s something in her gaze that makes him feel weird. The anxiety he gets underneath her attention is gone. His frown deepens. 

“There isn’t anything naïve about that,” Lance promises. “I’m kind of glad that you weren’t there, though. I hate that everyone saw that.” 

Allura tilted her head to the side, eyes curious. “And why is that?” 

Lance huffs out a chuckle. “They saw— _Shiro_. After all that time, they had to see him again and… it wasn’t even closure. I mean, Hunk and I look up to the guy. Pidge was a family friend and Keith is literally his  _brother_.” He says. If his voice had grown tight and strained, Allura doesn’t say a word about it. “I just feel really bad, I guess.” 

Allura pauses before she nods her head slowly. She then says, “Have you ever considered that all of us feel the same way?” 

“What?” He asks. “I mean, yeah. I don’t really blame you guys. It isn’t the best thing to see, considering—” 

“No, no,” Allura holds her hand out to stop him from speaking. Once he shuts his mouth, she clarifies with, “I meant: don’t you think that  _we_  feel bad because  _you_  have to see these things?” 

“But…why would you guys feel bad?” Lance asks. “That doesn’t make any sense.” 

Allura simply rolls her eyes. “It does too, you’re just rather blind when it comes to noticing when people care about you. We’re family, Lance. I thought that was something that you firmly believed in?” 

Lance’s eyes move down to the floor. Her words settle over him like a weighted blanket. He won’t lie—knowing that Allura cares about him means a lot to him, but… significantly less than he thought it would. He just feels validated. 

And, also,  _terrible_. Deep down, he knows she has a point… and yet he doesn’t really know what to say to it. 

“Family…” He echoes. “Yeah. Right.” 

He thinks back to the star deck. Comforting hugs. A tender smile, a new friendship and—he thinks of him screwing up. Of Keith’s face, contorted into something hurt as Lance pushes him away like the last seven months of friendship never even existed in the first place. 

Why couldn’t he get over himself and just talk to Keith? Why did the idea make him feel guilty? He was just trying to be a good friend to Lance, and he basically told Keith he didn’t want that from him. 

“You’re thinking of your argument with Keith, aren’t you?” Allura asks. 

Lance looks up at her through his lashes and his face grows warm. “Yeah, how’d you know?” 

She hesitates for a moment before she brings her hand up and gestures at his face. “You get this look on your face when you think of him.” She says, lips curving into a smile. 

Lance blinks at her, cheeks growing even warmer despite himself. Was he that easy to read? Sure, there wasn’t anything different about his platonic love toward Keith as it was with his other friends, but having it pointed out so easily by his facial expressions alone was… a little embarrassing. 

“It’s rather endearing to see you so…  _fond_  of your friends. I never thought I’d see the day where you and he would get along so seamlessly—at least not in my lifetime.” Allura adds. “You two make a wonderful duo. It’s been a balm to see you two become such good friends despite everything.” 

He kicks the floor aimlessly. “Yeah, but I totally screwed it up.” He says quietly. “I’m sure he hates me now, and I don’t blame him. I was kind of a diiii—” He coughs. “…kind of a jerk.” 

“Keith cares for you very much it seems,” Allura says as she places her hand on Lance’s shoulder. “If you apologize and make an effort to make amends, I’m positive that things will work out for the better. I doubt either of you would let something come between your… friendship.” 

Even though he doesn’t understand why she puts her words like that, he offers her a small nod of his head. He’s grateful for her, and for the first time, he isn’t melting underneath her gaze. It feels… kind of nice to be heard by her without his brain flipping out. He wonders what’s different this time around. 

“Thanks, Princess,” He says as he rubs the back of his neck. “Anyway, uh…enough about that. What was it that you needed to speak to me about?” 

Allura holds his gaze for a moment before she turns her head to look back at the Lion. Something somber falls over the momentary quiet, and Lance is helpless to do anything but watch her gather her thoughts. 

Is he in trouble? He feels like he’s in trouble. 

“Earlier,” she begins, lips pressed into a frown. “when we both first saw the Black Lion, you said that you…  _heard_  something, correct?” 

Lance slowly nods his head. “Yeah...” 

Allura hums. “And you asked if it was normal for that to happen.” She continues. Her brows furrow for a moment before she breathes out a tiny sigh. “I don’t think it is.” 

“Maybe—maybe it’s because of the dream?” Lance says. He knows it’s a half-assed idea and there’s definitely no basis for it, but he had nothing else to offer. 

As Allura seems to consider this, there’s another rush of amusement in his head. It’s brief and leaves Lance wondering if he had felt anything in the first place. If he didn’t know better, he’d think that his body feels like it’s overflowing with soda bubbles from all of the stress he’s been carrying… but the  _feeling_ —he doesn’t know why the feeling is so familiar. It’s almost as if he’s always felt like this; free falling through open air, not a care in the world. A thrill dancing inside of his chest, leaving his arms riddled with goosebumps.  

He breathes out a tiny laugh. 

“There’s no way that this is happening,” Lance whispers to himself as he peels away from Allura. She watches him leave with a cautious eyebrow raised. 

He takes a handful of hesitant steps closer to the Lion and he reaches his hand out. His fingers tremble as they come into contact with the purple particle barrier. 

What will he do if the barrier comes down? Does that mean he has to leave the Blue Lion? Does he even  _want_  that? 

He brushes his fingertips along the edges, relishing in the tiny jolts that spring through his veins at every point of contact he has with the shield. The amusement—it’s like laughter, now. Full blown and giddy and it leaves Lance smiling like a child at a candy store.  

 _Come on_ , Lance presses with his mind, brows twitching as his smile grows more daring.  _Don’t be shy, handsome._  

He presses his palm against the barrier firmly. 

 _Not yet, Paladin,_  they say back. Lance raised an eyebrow.  _Your moment will come. We will find what we are looking for in due time._  

Despite the rejection, the smile across Lance’s face does not disappear. 

He doesn’t understand why, but he’s  _relieved._ The weight off of his shoulders grows marginally less heavy, which is ridiculous considering he now has a connection with the  _Black Lion_ —but the fear that’s lingered inside of him? The feeling he’s felt for the last couple of months? It somehow seems easier to manage.  

He doesn’t know what he’s looking for—not yet, at least. But now, he knows he has his team on his side, and the Lion’s too. They’re his family. They’re his… 

 _If you say ‘pride’, you can forget that this ever happened._  

Laughter bubbles out from deep within him. He doesn’t think about how clear that thought was, nor how it stirred a memory in the back of his head that was actually not unpleasant; instead, Lance shakes his head as his shoulders tremble. 

“You’re such a tease, Black,” He says quietly. 

Lance removes his hand off of the barrier and the feelings he had felt grow muted, but he doesn’t mind. He has to drag himself away from the Lion and back to reality. He moves over to Allura and meets her eyes. She smiles. 

“Are you…?” 

Lance shakes his head again. “No, I’m not,” He replies easily. He glances over his shoulder toward the mech. “Not yet, at least.” 

He turns his attention back towards the princess. She has a warm look across her face, something excited in her eyes, and she’s watching him and— 

“You don’t seem surprised,” he says instead of melting underneath her undivided attention. It’s an odd feeling, but he can’t help but like the feeling of being on the same level as her for once. 

Allura huffs out a laugh through her nose. “It’s because I’m not.” She assures. “I brought you down here because I had  _hope_. The fact that you had unlocked the broadsword only made me wonder if you had somehow connected with the Black Lion, especially after it roared when you had your dream. It seems like it’s true.” 

Lance bites down on to his bottom lip and rubs the back of his neck. Allura was hoping he’d become the Black Paladin? That’s... absurd, to say the least. As much as he loves the idea of leading the team, he also loves the Blue Lion. He couldn’t replace Shiro, he couldn’t even begin to compare to him. 

 _Guess I have to add him to the list of people whose shadow I live in,_ he thinks bitterly. 

Managing a small smile in her direction, Lance shrugs his shoulders in a way he hopes isn’t apathetic. Her words mean a lot to him, really—but he’s nervous. The feeling isn’t soft like butterflies. Lance feels moths swarm his stomach, doing intricate flips and... well, okay, they didn’t do  _flips,_  but they were  _really_  fluttering. His fingers tremble as he runs them through his messy hair, now making it look more like bedhead than his natural messy do. 

“That’s... wow,” Lance chuckles. “But if anyone should be the leader, it should be you. Shiro would be proud to have you as his successor.” 

Allura blinks, surprise taking over her expression. She’s usually good at masking her emotions, but Lance must have really gotten her with that. She takes a minute before her face contorts into something more neutral. There’s a hint of fondness in her eyes that cracks through, though. 

“Being a part of Voltron was a dream of mine when I was a child,” Allura comments after a moment. She sighs, almost wistfully, before she shakes her head and wipes away whatever memory that had taken over her attention. “But I know that fighting alongside you and the rest of the Paladins is what I’m meant to do. Diplomacy takes up most of my time, anyway—and no one can fly the Castle of Lions as well as I can!” 

Lance’s smile widens. He’s about to open his mouth to confirm her skills, but an ear-piercing static fills the room. Lance winces, immediately bringing his hands up to squish his ears to the side of his head with his palms. 

It takes a moment for the feedback to stop ringing, and once it’s done, a loud voice echoes throughout the room. 

“Princess! Paladins!” Coran yells directly into the mic, making Allura’s eyes twitch. Lance thinks he sees her ears flicker from the abrupt sounds. 

“What is it, Coran?” Allura asks, earrings glowing a bit as it filters her voice to the control room. “Is everything all right?” 

Coran laughs loudly, sounding too enthusiastic. It catches Lance off guard, the former urgency from his tone now gone as fast as it had come. 

“Everything’s peachy, don’t you worry, Princess,” Coran assures. He then pauses. “We’ve received a transmission—wait a tick, not just one… there are multiple! It seems to be coming from…” Coran suddenly goes quiet. Lance’s brows pinch together. “Oh, dear…” Coran mumbles. 

He and Allura trade a look. 

“We’ll be right there,” Allura says. 

They make haste as they move towards the elevator. Lance offers a silent goodbye to the Black Lion but receives no response. 

Knowing that Coran had grown serious—sounding almost concerned—made Lance’s stomach roll uneasily. The man usually was so joyful despite everything bad that happened, so hearing him go quiet like that? Obviously, something was wrong. 

As they reach the main floor, he notices that the rest of the team must have noticed that something was off about the way Coran had sounded too. They all are standing by their respective chairs in the Control Room, faces contorted into something worried. 

His eyes meet Keith’s. Keith looks away immediately and faces forward.  

Shoulders tightening into something rigid, Lance makes his way over toward his chair. His chest feels funny and he’s aware of how both Hunk and Pidge are giving him weird looks, but he focuses on the vast expanse of space surrounding them. 

Huh. Technically, he knows that they had left Mopra, but there’s still something odd about realizing they’re no longer parked on the planet. It’s like waking up on a weekend and finding that you’re home alone. 

Space is kind of lonely. 

Allura brings her hand up and opens something that’s akin to a notification wall. She scrolls through lines of text that Lance still isn’t sure he can translate if he tried before she hesitates. Her arm continues to hang in the air, but her fingers curl in a little bit as she reads the writings. 

“It’s…” Allura’s jaw twitches. “It’s Loimia…” 

Coran places a hand on her shoulder but he doesn’t say a word. There’s something somber in his eyes that make him age another ten millennia. 

“Who’s Loimia?” Pidge asks, cocking her head to the side. Her bangs fall into her eyes and she huffs, sending strands of hair flying. 

Allura hesitates. “It’s… a planet, actually,” she mumbles. She seems to realize something and then she shakes her head and straightens her back. “Loimia existed long before Altea and Daibazaal. It was rumored to be one of the most ancient civilizations in the known Universe.” 

“Then this has to be a trap,” says Keith. “If the planet is as old as you say it is, there’s no way that Zarkon hasn’t already colonized there.” 

Allura’s hand drops to her side. 

“I’m agreeing with Keith here,” Hunk says. “I’ve got a bad feeling about this.” 

“You don’t understand,” Allura says after a moment. “Loimian’s have…a different kind of strength. They were an advanced civilization before the Great War, and they’ve no doubt expanded in the ten-thousand decapheobs that Coran and I were asleep.” 

Allura turns her head and faces the rest of the team. Lance catches her eyes and for a second, he can recognize a solemn sadness within them. He frowns.  

“Okay,” Lance drawls out. “And they’re trying to make contact with the Coalition? Did they put any specifics into their transmission or…?” 

Allura shakes her head. She turns a bit, facing the screen behind her. She seems to hesitate before saying, “No. It seems to just be a hailing.” 

Hunk groans. “See! This is a trap.” He warns halfheartedly. “You guys  _never_  listen to my intuition. Something bad is going to happen!” 

“We’re supposed to help the people, Hunk,” Pidge reminds, although, by the tone of her voice, she doesn’t seem to think it’s such a great idea, either. Lance can’t say that he blames her. 

“Pidge has a point,” Coran adds. “Loimia and Altea had strong connections. King Alfor was rather close with King Drekzul before he put his time into creating the Lions.” 

“You don’t suppose he’s alive still?” Allura asks, turning her attention to Coran. “Maybe he’s trying to reach out again after so long.” 

“Wouldn’t he be, uh…” Keith tilted his head to the side. “Like,  _really_  old?” 

Allura huffs. Lance can’t tell if it’s a laugh or a sigh. 

“Loimian’s age much differently compared to humans,” Allura says. “The King was already sixty-thousand decapheobs when Voltron was formed for the first time.” 

“So being seventy-thousand-years-old is normal for their species, then,” Keith says. He shifts against his seat. “But a lot can change in ten-thousand years. The Galra could be forcing him to make this call—you said that they’re strong. If the Galra managed to get them on their side of the fight, we’d be handing the Lion’s right to them.” 

The room falls quiet for a moment. 

“I don’t think it would hurt to invite them to space-facetime call,” Lance speaks up. He crosses his arms over his chest and settles down on the arm of his seat. 

Coran and Allura look over to him, along with Pidge and Hunk. His friends look a little betrayed. 

“I mean, that way we can see the situation with our own. There are ways to tell if people are lying, you know.” Lance says with a slight shrug. “And if Hunk and Mullet Supreme still don’t trust the sitch, then we know something’s wrong. Correct me if I’m wrong, but it’s our job to save people and planets from the Empire, right? So, either way, it’s worth looking into.” Lance continues. He brings up his hands and picks at his cuticles for dramatic effect. He glances up at the team before he adds, “But I could be wrong. What do I know?” 

Keith glares at him from the corner of his eye. He works his jaw, probably deliberately grinding his teeth like he knows he’s not supposed to do before he sighs. “Whatever.” He grits. “We just need to be cautious. It’s been months since we’ve had a run-in with the Galra, and I’m not looking forward to seeing them again any time soon.” 

Oh. Lance deflates a little. It’s easy to read between the lines of Keith’s words now. 

Hunk groans again. “Ugh, dang it, Lance. I hate it when you make good points.” He whines. “But you’re right. It’s our duty and blah blah blah. We should contact them and make sure everything’s okay.” 

Allura eyes Keith before she looks to Hunk. She nods her head at him, silently agreeing and then she faces the windows once again. With a swipe of her hand, she opens up the transmissions they had received. 

It takes a few minutes, but they’re able to catch a signal with Loimia after they hit call. The screen blinks a few times as it establishes a connection, and Allura taps her foot with the pattern. She shifts her weight from leg to leg. Her hands clench into fists at her sides. 

He wants to ask if she’s okay, but before he can open his mouth, the blinking stops. 

The screen in front of the Paladins flickers to life. It casts a blinding white light into the Control Room before the visuals come into focus. The whiteness fades, adjusting to a look into an outdoor garden that looks off of a cliff. The grass is green and neatly trimmed, and the amount of flora that curls around the stone fence that keeps the garden secure is ridiculous. Over the fence and off of the land, all the way to the horizon, are red, yellow and orange treetops, all varying in different heights. 

The sight reminds him of the Earth. He ignores the pang in his heart. 

“Oh!” A voice bellows off camera. “It’s working! We have established a ‘video chat’!” 

“Gods, you make me so tired.” Says another voice. Their voice is tired sounding, more monotonous than the other one. 

“Wrax, don’t be such a downer.” A series of people say, voices overlapping each other. “You have some catching up to do.” 

A sigh. The camera adjusts before it’s flipped, revealing three different looking people. 

Standing in the center, Lance assumes, is the ruler of the planet. Their skin is an ashen gray and their two eyes are white. They have a third eye on their forehead that remains shut. Their face is round around the cheeks but their chin is a little pointed. Their hair is white and gold and falls down to their shoulders. It curls at the ends, giving it a more poofy look. The crown that sits on their head is a simple triangle that has a hole near the vertex on top. 

On their left is a shorter being, about halfway shorter than the other two. His body is a dark brown, maybe black stone that’s cracked across his entire body. Underneath the surface and where his eyes are supposed to be is glowing orange and red. He smiles, and in his mouth, the shining substance drips down the back of his throat, thick and steaming. 

On the ruler's right is a woman. Her skin is a rich brown and her eyes are pure black. Her hair falls down to her shoulders in tawny brown and golden coils. Her four arms are clasped in front of her stomach and she smiles tightly, showing off her razor-sharp teeth.  

The ruler stares at them for one second exactly before their eyes bulge. They bring their hand up to their forehead and over their third eye, lips falling agape as they stare at the Paladins. Lance noticed that they have a pair of wings attached to their shoulders and biceps, all the way down to their wrists.  

“Oh, gods.” They say, voice flat despite their obvious reaction to Voltron. “This is a weird timeline.” 

Lance frowns. What’s that supposed to mean? He feels a little offended if he’s being honest. 

“You always say that,” Allura replies calmly. There’s something nostalgic to her tone and the woman on the screen tilt her head. Allura doesn’t react or either pretends not to notice. “I wasn’t expecting to see you, Wrax. Doesn’t your father usually handle these sorts of things?” 

Wrax laughs—a little nervously, Lance thinks, but it still sounds lifeless. “My father is dead, your Royal Highness.” They say. “I’m now the Eminence, so this falls under my lines of duty.” 

Allura’s shoulders drop. “Oh. I’m sorry to hear that.” 

Their hand drops back down to their side and Wrax shrugs. “It’s okay. It has been many decapheobs.” They say. “We adjust with time. I saw it coming, anyway.” 

Their eyes scan across the Paladins before they drop on Lance. For the first time in their meeting, Wrax smiles. It brings a weird happiness to their face that it had been void of before. 

“Black Paladin—or do you prefer Lance?” They ask, tilting their head to the right.  “Either way, it’s a pleasure to be in your presence.” 

Lance blinks. “Uh?” He offers, and then clears his throat. “I’m actually the Blue Paladin.” 

Wrax blinks. Their lips tug into a frown and then they visibly flinch. “Yes, of course…” They say. “That’s— my fault. Being an all-knowing being with predictions of multiple timelines can get rather… messy. I apologize.” 

Lance swallows. That’s… a lot to take in. Judging from the looks the rest of the team gives him, he knows it’s something they’ll want to talk about later. He oddly dreads that conversation—considering what happened minutes before, Allura probably would want him to come out to the team and tell them about what happened with the Black Lion. 

How was he even supposed to have that conversation? Saying,  _‘Oh yeah, I have a connection with the Black Lion, but it’s not good enough for me to pilot them. Sorry guys!’_ , wouldn’t cut it. 

 “That’s okay,” Lance assures with a tiny smile. It feels a little too forced, but hopefully, Wrax and their company won’t notice. “It’s probably a common mistake for someone like you.”  

Wrax lets out another chuckle. “I appreciate your empathy; however, we do not have much time to speak. I apologize for being so dismissive… and for accosting the Coalition on such short notice, but the time calls for urgency.” 

Allura squares her shoulders. “It’s nothing to apologize for, Voltron is here to serve the people, your Majesty.” She assures with a kind smile. “Although I am concerned. The last I remember was that Loimia was able to stand on its own?” 

Wrax sighs. “That was long ago, Princess.” 

The woman next to them places her hand on her shoulder, lips tugging down into a frown. Wrax offers her a small smile, but their heart doesn’t seem to be in it. After a second of vulnerability, they face the camera once more and lift their chin up—it's a move Lance has seen from Allura many times. A determination he doesn’t quite know for himself yet, but it’s honorable nonetheless.  

“And that is why Loimia is calling for help.” Wrax continues. “I’ve seen things that I know that our planet cannot go through without the aid of your Paladins. There are far too many timelines where my people are captured by the Galra and our minds are used for evil. I cannot let that happen. Our people have been fighting wars with each other for the last three thousand decapheobs and we’ve only just found peace. With the outcomes that I keep seeing... I know that it’ll be a hard fight, but it is something that I know we can pull through together with. Consider this Loimia just being... cautious. 

“I am familiar with your Paladin’s hesitance to come down and save us, considering what happened to your friend.” Wrax’s eyes trail across the Paladins before they land on Lance. Their gaze feels heavy on him, but they look away and give Allura their attention before Lance can break out into a sweat. “With everything the Paladin’s are going through, we understand that this is a hard time to buckle down and fight—but to make things easier, we offer hospitality and gifts, and our best engineers have offered help with your communication device.” 

Pidge and Hunk visibly tense. Lance raises an eyebrow and shoots him a look, silently asking,  _Are you okay?_  

Hunk waves him off, but he swallows and wrings his hands in front of him. It’s a nervous habit that Lance picked up on long ago, he’s now curious as to why he’s whipping it out now. 

Allura slowly nods her head. “Of course,” She says, “Although the gifts are not necessary, we certainly do appreciate your gratitude.” Allura then pauses. “I’ll set a waypoint in your quadrant. We should arrive there in at least two vargas. Until then, sit tight. If you could relay more details of these...  _timelines_ that you keep on seeing, it’d make preventing them much easier.” 

Wrax breathes out a relieved breath. “Thank you so much, Princess,” Wrax says with a warmth to their voice that he hasn’t heard from them before. “I’ll send you the notes I have been taking for you to look over. We’re looking forward to having you dock on our planet. Satha—” Wrax gestures toward the woman on their left. “—will notify me once your ship is entering Loimia’s orbit. She will help you all into the Palace once you’re ready for a more formal debriefing.” 

Allura and Wrax exchange their goodbyes before the screen flickers away. Allura stands still for a moment, head trained in the direction where the figures had been. She then deflates, her body growing lax. She brings her hands up and rubs at her face, shoulders shaking lightly as she seems to be—laughing? Lance pouts. 

Before she can direct her attention back to the rest of them, Allura places her hands on the two columns. A wormhole opens in front of her, and Lance’s is suddenly distracted by the swirling purple inside of the darkness. He shakes his head a bit and pushes himself off of his seat. 

“We should get ready,” Lance says a moment later. “Go change, eat something if you’re hungry—all that fun stuff.” 

Hunk nods his head. “I can whip something up if anyone is hungry. I think we have some leftovers from Mopra? But, uh, don’t hold me to it. I’m probably wrong.” 

Pidge mumbles something that Lance can’t catch and she scurries out of the door before Hunk can even move out of his chair. Both he and Hunk watch her go before Hunk breathes out a tiny chuckle and follows after her. He stops once he reaches the door and then he turns his head back to face Lance. His eyes sparkle in the way they do when he knows something he isn’t supposed to. 

Lance quirks an eyebrow in his direction, a silent,  _what is it?_  

“Are you gonna come to eat, Lance?” Hunk asks out loud. 

Lance presses his lips into a thin line. He glances over his opposite shoulder to where Keith’s still sulking in his chair and then faces Hunk again. He shakes his head. 

“No,” he says, “I’ll catch up with you guys later.” 

Hunk smiles at him and leaves the Control Room without another word. Lance finds his eyes lingering on the spot where his best friend had stood, wishing that their interaction lasted much longer. Despite this, he knows that it’s time for him to apologize to Keith. He doesn’t know why he’s nervous—maybe it’s the guilt?—but what he does know is that it’s going to be hard to look at him in the eyes. 

And, well. He  _likes_ looking into Keith’s eyes, as weird as it sounds. He’s just so... understanding. It shows in the way he looks at the people he’s talking to. If he doesn’t understand, then he’s at least making an effort to, and it’s just— 

He really hopes he hasn’t lost Keith as a friend because of his screw up. He isn’t sure what he’ll do if he did. 

Lance dusts off his hands on his thighs and then takes a deep breath. As his lungs fill, he sets his jaw in determination and takes the few steps it takes to reach Keith’s chair. Keith must notice that he’s approaching him. His entire body tenses and he squeezes his arms closer to his chest like it could somehow shield himself from whatever Lance was going to throw at him. 

“Hey,” he says softly. “Let’s take a walk.” 

“I don’t want to,” Keith says back. “Go walk with someone else.” 

Lance clenches his jaw. “Keith,” Lance says, voice firmer. “Please walk with me.” 

Keith glares up at him, eyebrows shadowing over his eyes. He looks like he’s about to say something, but he must give up because he rolls his eyes and his eyelashes flutter and Lance swallows down the lump in his throat. Keith pushes himself out of his chair and brushes past Lance. 

He stops at the door, just as Hunk had. Lance watches him helplessly. His chest is heavy. 

“I’m going to go to the kitchen,” Keth says, and then doesn’t move an inch. When Lance doesn’t say anything in return, Keith turns his head to face him. Even with the bitterness that surrounds him, there’s an amused glint in his eyes. “Moody,” Keith says again, and Lance feels ridiculous but his heart sort of skips a beat. “You can walk and talk, can’t you?” 

Lance scrambles over to Keith, nearly tripping over his shoes. Even knowing that he wasn’t out of the doghouse yet, a smile takes on his face. Keith’s giving him a chance to apologize, and that’s all he wants to do. Keith deserves to hear it, at least. 

As they make their way out of the control room, leaving Allura alone with Coran, they start down the hallway. 

Keith’s walking at a leisurely pace, giving Lance time to gather his thoughts. He doesn’t have much to say, but the anxiety he feels still clouds his head like a thick fog.  

He takes a deep breath. “So, I was kind of a dick.”  

Keith, honest to God, actually  _snorts_. 

Lance hesitates, not sure whether or not that was a good sound—like, yeah, it’s a  _good_  sound, but it isn’t what he’s looking for. Keith doesn’t say anything else, seeming to be opting out of having a conversation and letting Lance monologue about his mistakes and to beg on his knees for forgiveness. Lance’s tongue darts out between his lips. Okay. He could do that. 

“I know that you’re just like... looking out for me,” Lance adds after a second. Keith glances over to him, eyes trailing across his face before he faces forward again. It was too quick for Lance to gauge an accurate emotion on Keith’s face, but at least he’s looking at him. He sort of expected Keith to be more... petty about everything. “And. You know, that means a lot. I just... don’t want you to go out of your way to worry about helpless things.” 

Keith clenches his jaw. 

“Um,” Lance rubs the back of his neck. “But I mean—I know that I can’t exactly make anyone stop worrying. I just feel bad for it, you know? Because, um... I’m just not that good with emotions. I mean, I’m not like—repressing them. But talking about them with people isn’t easy? You get that. I just don’t want to burden people with my problems because I’m overreacting—” 

Keith grabs Lance’s elbow. He stops walking. 

“Idiot,” Keith says, but his voice is a little softer than it was earlier. “That’s not why I’m mad at you. I mean, it’s... part of it. You’re kind of a pain in the ass—” 

“Thank you.” 

“—Don’t be cute about it.” Keith threatens. Lance swallows. He wasn’t being cute intentionally. That’s— _unfair_. He doesn’t get to voice his thoughts because Keith speaks up once again with, “I just... I don’t know what you want me to say, Lance.” 

Lance purses his lips. “You’re not supposed to be saying anything,” Lance reminds, “This is my apology. I'm apologizing right now.” 

“Well.” Keith drops his hand back to his side. Lance’s arm is left cold. “You’re doing a bad job at it.” 

“I  _am_ sorry, though. For, you know... being a jerk to you.” Lance says and then scuffs his foot against the tile floor. “I shouldn’t have snapped like that. I don’t usually get so upset about things like this, so I’m not sure where that came from. I don’t get into fights with my friends, and I  _never_  liked fighting with you, to begin with, so.” Lance shrugs. “Sorry.” 

Keith sighs. “It’s—okay, Lance.” 

Lance hesitates. “What?” Lance asks after a short moment. 

Keith glares at him. “I’m accepting your apology,” Keith says, gesturing vaguely with his one arm that isn’t wrapped around his chest. “Consider it accepted. We can move on now.”  

He frowns. Just like that? Keith isn’t going to try to talk him into having an Emotional Bonding Conversation about things? He was going to let him go just like that, scot-free? His stomach rolls uncomfortably. The situation is too familiar, hits too close to home.  

“Uh... okay. Right.” Lance says after a moment. “So, we’re good? We bounced back and everything?” 

Keith looks at him. His lips are pressed into a small frown and his brows hang low on his face, but other than that, he looks... normal. Lance tries to swallow the lump in his throat again but it doesn’t stop the tightness that makes it hard to breathe. He can’t tell if Keith’s upset or not—his eyes are  _blank._  

“Yeah. We’re fine, dude.” Keith assures with an awkward pat on Lance’s arm. “I have to change into my armor though, so I’m going to head back to my room before grabbing lunch, so. See you there.” 

Keith doesn’t say anything else when he walks off. Lance watches him leave him in the hallway the second time that day, and despite the fact that Keith said that they were all good, it feels worse this time around. 

“See ya,” Lance says to the empty hallway. 

He gets no response. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me writing: how can i make this hurt?
> 
> Anyway. Happy Valentines Day! You get angst and oblivious pining, nothing happy here. This chapter took over a month to write and I’m so sorry for that but. blame my writer’s block? It really fucked me over with this chapter. I only finished writing it a few nights ago because my friend Darcy ([taxashi](https://taxashi.tumblr.com)) and made a deal to finish our wip chapters in a night. You have me to thank for the new Klancemas update (also, obviously Darcy, because she's great (Darcy if you're reading this ily)). Go check that series out if you haven’t yet. It’s great.
> 
> Once again, thank you to my beta readers, Keith [killproof](https://killproof.tumblr.com) and Anna [lujanne](https://lujanne.tumblr.com)! They both took time out of their days to help me edit and make sure that this chapter was comprehensible. You guys catch all the mistakes I’m too blind to see. I’ll die for you. Just you wait.
> 
> I hope y'all are enjoying the story so far! We’re just now getting into the Real Plot, so things will get more intense soon. I’m so excited to introduce the planet Loimia to you guys though! I’ve had the idea for them for around a year now, and I think they’re amazing people there. You’re going to fall in love with Wrax and Satha, I think. I’m so hyped!
> 
> Comments and reviews really motivate me! I smile so much when I get the email notifications from you guys. They really do speed up the writing process -wink wink-
> 
> Thank you so much for reading! I’ll see you next time <33
> 
> \- Cato
> 
>  
> 
> [tumblr](https://ghozting.tumblr.com) | [twitter](https://twitter.com/hoktril)


	4. iii. Absinthe Dreams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lance receives both a blessing and a curse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Potential Triggers in This Chapter:
> 
> \- tease at a temporary character death  
> \- out of body experiences
> 
>  
> 
> absinthe  
> /ˈabˌsinTH/  
> noun:  
> a state or source of bitterness or grief.

 

>>>

 

 

032720XX

 

Planet Loimia is one of those experiences that doesn’t seem real until you leave, Lance thinks. Even after he had stepped foot on to the reddish-brown soil, boots crushing the fallen leaves with a familiar crunching that sends a pleasant chill of nostalgia down his spine, he doesn’t feel _grounded_.

But it’s beautiful, there’s no doubt about that. From the thick forests with a fantasy autumn chill that’s inaccurate to Earth’s own, to the buildings made of smooth stone with iridescent windows that glisten with pinks and purples and blues and greens in the right lighting, the entire place seems like it’s made of dreams. Even the white clouds that litter the skies seem too fluffy and thick for them to be considered real. It looks like an intricate painting, and if Lance hadn’t flown through the skies hours ago, he would’ve thought that it’s fake.

Not only is the scenery stunning, but the citizens were quite the lookers too. Every Loimian looked to be unique in their own way, whether it be by physical appearance, fashion choices, or even their quintessential aura. There seemed to be about three separate species which inhabited the planet: avian humanoids with skin tones varying from milky white to obsidian black, people which were forged of rocks and clay with lava bubbling underneath the surface of their shells, and a weird sort of centaur look-a-likes. They lacked fur, but they all had fleshy tales and wore clothes because, well. Having multiple sets of limbs and a weird spine doesn’t mean you can’t be decent.

(He doesn’t really know what he’d do if he woke up one day with an extra set of both arms and legs, but he digresses.)

The main thing that stole his breath away, though? The palace. While the towns outside of Loimia’s capital were beautiful, he’s enchanted by the architecture of the buildings which coiled around the castle. Despite the war which had supposedly been waging on for years, they cleaned up nicely. Sure, there were some places on the plateau where the residents reside which looked more worn, but after thousands of years, they’re still _nice_.

He loves it here. For once, he actually finds himself looking forward to learning more about the culture and the history of the planet. He’s giddy, but waiting has never been his strong suit. So even though he and the rest of the team were paraded around the entire plateau hours before, Lance spends his time with Hunk.  The two chat idly as they walk the cobblestone paths which twist and turn them around the open markets, and then eventually, to the homes of Loimians.

Hunk and he stroll past the buildings, smiling at families that peer out the window and to the children that rush out into the streets die eyes wide and hands shaking as they bounce around the two.

It never gets old, Lance thinks. Seeing people so passionate about what they do, the peace they spread—it’s like a breath of fresh air. That’s what really pulls him down to earth. Seeing the fear from the people they help wash away like it was never there in the first place? It’s better than anything he’s ever experienced.

As one of the kids' tugs on Hunk’s arm, he kneels and chats to them, his grin spread even wider as they enthuse about the Yellow Lion. He answers whatever questions they have the best he can, sometimes saying too much tech-junk that Lance has to cut in and say, “that can’t be a real word! You totally just made that up!”, which earns laughter from the small group.

And of course, the kids ask about Blue, and Lance starts the tale of finding the Blue Lion in a cave back at home. He overplays the hero role just a little bit—you know, for the dramatics—and it has Hunk rolling his eyes but playing along because Hunk’s the literal best.

After a while, the parents pull their excitable children away from the duo, smiling and offering their gratitude for entertaining the kids, and then both he and Hunk set off on their trail again with smiles lingering across their faces.

It’s easy to find happiness in the littlest things when everything else that’s going through his mind is on the back-burner. Maybe Hunk knows that too, considering he was adamant when he insisted on following Lance as he peeled himself away from the rest of the squad.

But— _whatever_. Even underneath the sky he’s carrying on shoulders, there’s an ease that makes him feel secure.

He absorbs the palace in, growing easily familiar with the white buildings accented with gold and berry blue and then with the bustling life that radiates the streets. Even as he and Hunk make their way out of the residential zone and back toward the outside markets and indoor shops which vary from clothes to jewelry to customizable knickknacks (he makes a mental note to buy something for his mamá), there’s a resounding familiarity that leaves him prodding his brain and looking for some connection.

“Hey, Hunk?” Lance says as he turns his head.

Hunk must peel his eyes away from the buildings, a gentle smile stretched across his wide face, to meet Lance’s gaze. From the looks of it, Hunk enjoys the palace just as much as Lance does, if not more—the softness in his eyes gives him away.

“Yeah, buddy?”

“Does this place seem familiar to you?” Lance asks.

Hunk’s quiet for a moment. He looks away from Lance and his eyes trail across the wall-to-wall series of shops, and the loitering Loimians which fill the streets, each in their own little world as they walk past them. The smile on Hunk’s face twitches a little higher.

“Cuba.” He says. “Remember the first time we met, after the entrance exams?”

Lance pauses for a second as the memory rushes over him. A smile takes his face. “We somehow convinced your moms to fly over for two weeks so we could hang out before we became roommates,” Lance recalls, laughing as Hunk nudges him with his shoulder. He falls quiet after a moment, eyes scanning their surroundings. Things click into place. “The street markets. In Varadero.” He says after a moment, his voice having an airy ' _ah'_ to it.

Hunk chuckles. “Yeah,” He says back, “Can’t you see it?”

Lance nods. “It’s been a while, but totally—especially because of the touristy stuff!” He can hear the smile in his own voice and then turns his head to face Hunk. He then asks, “¿Todavía sabe hablar español?”

Hunk pauses, blanching for a split second before turning back to normal. If Lance hadn’t been watching him, he would’ve noticed anything off at all when Hunk says, “Uh. Soy un genio, Lance.”

“You didn’t answer the question,” Lance says, smile curling sharp at the edges.

Hunk groans. “Okay, _fine_. I’m a little out of practice.”

Lance cackles. Hunk rolls his eyes.

“I’ve been trying to learn Altean! That’s a _really_ hard language, man—they need to buy some vowels!” Hunk says, crossing his arms over his chest with a tiny pout. Lance coos and pats his shoulder, offering him a faux-sympathetic look. He then pauses. “You know, it’s probably because we haven’t hung out much.”

Lance’s hands drop to his side and his brows pinch together. He gives Hunk a look which easily says, _what the heck are you talking about?_

Hunk simply shrugs.

“Well, you know, since Pidge and I have been busy and Allura’s been needing help with diplomacy stuff for the Coalition,” Hunk expands. “We used to hang out all the time and we’d sometimes speak Spanish, but…you know. We’re both busy. Me doing all that stuff and you flirting with Keith—”

Lance trips over his own foot. Hunk catches him by the collar of his armor before his face breaks against the stone street.

He then stands up and straightens his back before he dusts himself off.  Putting the rest of his energy into conjuring up a glare to shoot at Hunk, he silently hopes that he’ll melt—because, like. Flirting? Him? With Keith? HA. No. That’s not what’s happening there. In fact, that’s like, the furthest thing from what’s actually happening with Keith.

His armor feels hot. Maybe his cooling system is broken? He makes a mental note to ask Pidge or Allura about it after they meet up with the rest of the team for the briefing with Wrax.

Hunk must’ve seen his expression because he winces. Guilt floods his expression and has Lance reeling from a weird sort of bitterness to his own guilt. He didn’t really know why he felt that way, but now he can’t help but feel a little bad. Hunk seems embarrassed, and he wonders if it’s because of Lance or for him.

“Sorry, sorry!” Hunk waves his hands out in front of him, pulling the two to a stop. “I just thought that was something we had come to a realization about by now.”

Civilians walk past the two, not even sparing glances toward the two despite them being clad in their Paladin uniforms. Is it even okay to have this conversation in the public? Can rumors about the Paladins even spread?

There’s no reason a rumor would even spread, right? Right! He and Keith are buddies. Pals. Good friends from a _respectable_ distance. There isn’t anything like that going on between them, Lance didn’t even like the guy! That’s crazy!

_Why am I totally no-homo-ing this? Calm down, stop being suspicious. There’s nothing to be suspicious about. So, just—stop! Why is it so freaking hot on this planet?!_

“It’s _not_ a thing, Hunk!” Lance assures as he throws his arms over his chest. He’s trying not to get defensive, but he really doesn’t understand where Hunk got that ridiculous idea. “There’s been no realizations about anything. I don’t even—where the heck did you even come up with that?”

Hunk blinks and then rubs the back of his neck. He peels his eyes away from Lance, looking over his shoulder. Lance clenches his jaw before he releases it, eyebrows pressing together low on his face. Hunk’s reaction is only confusing him further.

“Well,” Hunk starts, eyes moving back to Lance’s for a split-second before they dart away again. “You know, you spend a lot of time with him. And you guys have nicknames for each other, and you both always hang out before you guys go to bed so you’re the last person each other sees before sleeping. And, uh, you know, you sort of get heart eyes when you look at him?”

Lance laughs way too loudly. He ends up getting weird looks from the locals and his face burns underneath their gaze. He glares at Hunk once again, who at least has the decency to look apologetic. Which— _good!_ He doesn’t have to make his friendship with Keith weird. Not that it _would_ be weird. Lance knows he can like dudes! But it’s Keith, and Keith is his friend. A close friend!

Keith’s sort of like a...

A frown makes its way on to his face.

Brother…isn’t the right term. Sure, Keith’s _like_ family—Lance loves him like he loves Hunk and Pidge—but is he a brother to Lance? No way.

He swallows. No, it’s...not right.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Hunk.” Lance finally says. He shakes his head like it can clear the table that Hunk has graciously spread out in front of them—he's getting too stressed out over whatever Hunk’s trying to imply. His throat feels a little sore, tightening around his words when he adds, “He and I are just friends, okay? And—and to be honest, ‘friend’ might be a strong word right now! He’s totally pissed off at me—he didn’t even come by my room last night to...to _bother_ me while I was doing my skincare routine!”

Hunk arches a brow, and Lance does not like that one bit.

He huffs and turns around on his heel, making his way back to the palace. After a second, Hunk stumbles after him, apologizing to the people he bumps into on the way. Lance grinds his teeth as he dodges the civilians with ease, silently hoping that he manages to lose Hunk in the crowd.

If he’s being honest, he isn’t really sure why he’s annoyed—he doesn’t have a reason to be, Hunk just thought something, and for once, he wasn’t right. He just made a mistake. You know, a _miscalculation_. But even with that knowledge, it doesn’t stop the way annoyance prickles at his gut.

He shouldn’t be bothered, and the fact that he is annoys him even further. God, is he becoming Keith? Hunk was right, he is spending too much time with the guy.

 _It probably doesn’t matter now, though_ , he thinks to himself as his storm off is abruptly cut off by a crowd of people. Lance taps his foot impatiently, fighting off the frown that’s easing its way on to his face. _Keith’s still totally pissed about our fight._

Around the time he realizes people aren’t going to move, Hunk catches up with him. He doesn’t bother to hold back a glare as he moves to clutch on to Lance’s shoulder pad. He jostles him a bit and pulls him back so they’re standing next to each other, looking face to face. Lance pouts at him.

“You know, running away from confrontation makes you look a little suspicious,” Hunk says.

Lance groans. “What’s the big idea, Hunk?” Lance asks as he throws his arms across his chest. “You’re—you’re being nosy, and you’re also being wrong. And what’s up with this crowd?!”

Hunk, thankfully, looks past him and toward the clutter of Loimians. His eyes scan the area and then his lips press into a firm line. His expression morphs from being a normal teenager to a soldier. Lance finds himself standing up straighter at the sudden shift in attitude. He shoves their argument to the back of his brain and looks back at the crowd.

“Criminal scum!” A man hisses. The hatred in his voice drops something into his stomach, leaving him unsettled. “Return what you stole this instant or you will be punished by my hand, boy!”

Lance’s eyes widen a fraction. He turns to look at Hunk, who seems to share a similar look of dismay. Just by one glance, he can tell that Hunk wants to get a better look at the situation, too—it’s almost relieving, knowing his friend has his back just as he has his.

But then a familiar voice—one that’s lacking its usual warmth and instead is replaced by something much bolder, much more bitter—growls, “I’m not sure that’s in your jurisdiction.”

Lance’s eyes roll back into his head and Hunk sighs next to him.

“Pidge was supposed to keep him in check.” Hunk grumbles.

“You don’t think he stole anything, do you?” Lance asks as he knits his brows.

Hunk offers a hesitant shrug. “Either way, we should make sure your boyfriend isn’t getting gutted.”

Lance clenches his jaw but ultimately decides to ignore Hunk’s comment the best he can (which means he’s filing it in a folder in his head titled, _I’ll Be Pissed About This Later_ ). They begin to push through the crowds, surprisingly thick with people from a supposed peaceful planet. Why weren’t they doing anything? Did they want to watch a Paladin get into a fight with a local, or were they just interested in the yelling?

Lance manages to worm himself between people better than Hunk does and he escapes the crowds of Loimians, finding the center after a few rows of bystanders. He stumbles after tripping on someone's foot but somehow doesn’t fall face first into the cobblestone, so he counts it as a win. After regaining his composure, Lance looks up and...

The situation is far different from what he’d thought it’d be.

He feels a little bad for that.

You see, he knows Keith. He likes to think that he knows him rather well from the time they’ve spent together in space—in actual _war_. He knows Keith wouldn’t steal from someone innocent since that isn’t the type of person he is. So when he sees Keith standing in front of a civilian who cowers near the street, shoulders squared and knees bent ever so slightly as if he’s ready to leap into action at any given moment, guilt hits him harder than he had thought it would.

Maybe it’s because of the scene that plays before him. The way the Loimian isn’t a grown man, but a child. The way he looks beaten down and thin and maybe even a little ill—it’s hard to tell with alien species, but the hollowness of his eyes says something. It’s telling.

The man who stands in front of Keith isn’t tall, but he does look strong. He’s made of rocks, and lava thrums inside of him, steaming out of his mouth as he snarls at Keith. There’s a fury there which would be funny if the situation didn’t look so…weird.

The back of his head aches. He ignores it in favor of watching what falls in front of him.

“How _dare_ you?” The Stone Man growls. “You’re protecting this boy—this pathetic thief?”

Keith raises his chin. “I’m just doing my job.” He says. “And right now, that’s making sure you don’t do something you’ll regret later.”

Lance hears how his jaw clenches through his voice and he can see the way his cheek twitches only a few feet in front of him. He isn’t sure how Keith hasn’t noticed him yet, but he finds himself frozen. Should he step in? They have a reputation to uphold, but…

His head throbs. He feels the heat from moments before strip away from him, starting from the top of his head and all the way down to the tips of his toes. He releases a soft puff of air out of his mouth.

“Your _job_ is to smile and wave, Paladin.” The way the Stone Man says his title sounds like a curse. Judging by the way Keith’s nostrils flare, he doesn’t seem to like that one bit. Lance doesn’t blame him. He’s finding it hard to fight off the bitterness, himself. The shorter man then says with the insolence of a fool, “there’s no other reason for you to be here other than for that _worthless_ piece of tullkoik who calls themselves a ruler. Death to the Eminence!”

Outrage erupts around them. Keith takes a step backward, eyes darting around at the flurry of angered Loimians. Even the child behind Keith seems pissed off at what the Stone Man had said. Ignoring the untranslatable shouts from the people around him, Lance peels his eyes away from the crowds and looks back over to the Stone Man.

Someone is next to him, facing away from Lance. He can’t see their face; most of their body is shadowed by the black cloak that drapes over them. They reach out a gloved hand, grabbing on to the Stone Man. He looks over at them and holds eye contact for a moment before the cloaked being turns around and walks away from him without a single word spoken.

Lance frowns. As he watches them leave, their cloak rises a bit from their hasty movement, revealing their brown ankle with something blue wrapped around it. It sparkles in the light, and before Lance can even comprehend what just happened and what he’s currently seeing, the being shifts out of sight and the Stone Man has moved back to his concession stand. Keith, still standing tense, turns around to look for the child he stood up for.

He’s gone as well.

Keith’s shoulders drop as his eyes scan the crowd. Almost like magic, everyone seems to go back to normal. There are no more dirty looks or shaking fists, just citizens loitering around the markets, talking with others and purchasing goods. What happened to the anger? People seem to love Eminence Wrax as much as they love Loimia itself, and now they’re totally brushing off the Stone Man’s comment like it was nothing! Isn’t that a little ridiculous?

His attention is caught by Hunk pushing past him, shoulder bumping Lance’s in a way that he isn’t certain is an accident. He doesn’t offer Lance a glance as he approaches Keith, he only calls out for him as Lance watches, a little distracted.

Keith turns his head, eyes falling on Hunk. They’re blank until he recognizes Hunk and a tight smile pulls at his face. Lance steps forward as well.

“Oh. Hey, Hunk,” He says and then looks over to Lance. His smile twitches a bit. “Lance. What’s up?”

“What the heck just happened?” asks Lance as he tilts his head to the side.

Keith’s smile easily morphs into a frown. His entire face hardens at the question and he looks over to the empty space beside him. The question lingers in the air for a moment and unease works its way into Lance’s system.

“I have no idea,” Keith replies as he glances back to Hunk and him. “I saw that kid’s every move. There’s no way that he stole anything from that merchant.”

“I’m a little concerned with the whole ‘Death to the Eminence’ thing?” Hunk says, rubbing the back of his neck. “I feel like that’s a little, uh…suspicious. Why didn’t anyone do anything?”

Lance frowns. “I mean, what _can_ they do?” He asks. “It’s not like they could’ve decked the guy in the face for that. Didn’t Eminence Wrax say they just found peace with each other?”

“Maybe at the briefing, things will make more sense,” says Hunk. He crosses his arms over his chest and eyes Lance for a moment before looking over to Keith. “We should head back, though. I can’t be late for diplomacy.”

He nods his head and Keith mimics the movement. His eyes briefly flick over to Lance before he turns around and nods in the direction he came from. Lance frowns but doesn’t say anything else.

He pretends to not notice the look Hunk is giving him as all three of them begin their walk back to the castle.

 

 

>>>

 

 

Loimia is beautiful. He knows he’s said that before, but it’s one of the only things he can actually focus on at the moment. Despite being the team leader, the _almost_ Black Paladin, Lance is dozing off. He rests his head in the palm of his hands, sitting near the back of the room on a bench. His elbow rests lazily on the table before him, growing more uncomfortable by the second as it digs into his armor.

His eyes move away from Eminence Wrax, who’s deep in a history lesson about the multitude of races that make up the Loimian citizens. It’s mostly for Hunk, who couldn’t stop asking questions that weren’t exactly important to their mission. Folklore’s interesting, but his head won’t stop chanting _, I’M BORED I’M BORED I’M BORED!_

Because he’s, you know, bored as hell.

It’s not his fault, either. Maybe he’d be able to pay more attention to the lesson if Eminence Wrax’s voice wasn’t the audial equivalent of a saltine cracker. They didn’t even seem to be interested in anything they were saying! It’s hard to listen to a monotone voice go on and on and _on_ about how they sprouted from the earth, cloud,  and mountains.

So, he focuses on the architecture of the meeting room. It’s breathtaking —literally, Pidge and Hunk had gasped when they stepped foot into the palace—, but there’s something about the architecture that, while also being grand, makes the castle look comfortable.

The walls tower over the rest of the team, curling up to a rounded ceiling that looks as if it were made of broken pieces of colored glass. The glass creates a kaleidoscope effect against the pale stone columns, streaking lines of blue, green, red, and yellow. Even the floors shine the same colors as the ceiling. It almost looks like the castle is sitting on top of a rainbow.

What really thrills him is the fact the room doesn’t even need lights. On each side of the chamber were three massive stained-glass windows, showing the adroit gardens and the edge of the peninsula the Loimians live on. Across the horizon, Lance can see treetops of autumn colors pointing to the clear blue skies. He relishes in the natural light while he can.

There weren’t many planets that Lance felt comfortable visiting for hours on end, but something’s different about this one. Even though there’s a ton of guards in the castle—like the four-armed woman, Satha, from the video chat—lingering in the halls and in doorways, it’s… strangely homey here.

He thinks back to the street vendors with a small smile gracing his lips.

Most of the residents of the palace had accepted him and the rest of the Paladins with open arms, bearing gifts and food for the team when they gathered in the castle’s courtyard. Pidge got hit in the face with flowers, which made his _day_. It’s easy to forget about his conversation with Hunk and his argument with Keith.

Sitting next to him, a few feet away, Keith glances at him. It effectively catches Lance’s attention and he turns his head. Their eyes meet for a moment before Keith looks back down to the tablet that rests on the metal tabletop.

The tablet was a gift from Eminence Wrax. They had given little information as to what it was, but from what Lance gathered from the call they had yesterday and the brief things that the Eminence said upon sending the short rock person to hand them out, they were meant to make things easier. He had opened his up and messed around with it, noticing that it’s just like an average iPad other than the fact it’s just a screen bordered with steel edges and came with a pen. There’s a camera option, a messaging option, and empty libraries for what he assumed were for music, books, and movies.

And apparently, there’s a drawing application Keith had found on his because instead of listening to what Wrax’s explaining to Hunk, his hand is clenched around his stylist and he scribbles across the screen over a white document.

Lance can’t see what he’s drawing from this distance but from the slight pinch in Keith’s eyebrow and hasty movements of his left arm, he seems focused on making whatever it was look right. Thinking about it now, he never really saw Keith work on drawings. He never showed off his art, either? Lance just… knew he drew sometimes.

Huh.

He scoots a little closer. In front of him, Hunk and Allura laugh. It catches his attention and Eminence Wrax waves their hand in front of them in a dismissing way. There’s a shy smile across their face that has him faltering. For someone who’s technically older than Coran, they’re pretty cute.

Lance frowns, only slightly. He glances at Keith out of the corner of his eye.

He’s still hunched over his tablet, blinking slowly as he stares down at the screen. He looks like he’s lost in his own little world, face soft and his brows twitching every so often before he flips his pen and erases something on the screen. Lance’s lips twitch into a tiny smile.

Keith looks at him again. Their eyes meet and Keith raises an eyebrow. An unimpressed look takes over his face, the softness is suddenly gone. He remembers their fight all over again, and as he tries to stuff down the anxious feeling in his gut, Lance sticks his tongue out and turns his attention to Eminence Wrax.

Keith goes back to drawing a moment later.

“So that’s what happens when you put it on?” Hunk asks, eyes wide as he stares up at the Eminence with something akin to awe stretched across his face. Lance thinks he sees his eyes sparkle a bit and he looks over to Allura, who looks just as interested in the conversation as Hunk is.

“Yes,” Wrax replies. Their eyes flick away from Hunk and they meet Lance’s gaze for a split second before turning back toward team Voltron’s diplomats. “The Evermore is very crucial to our people. Every time a new ruler is selected, they must endure its powers. They must carry the weight on their shoulders, and every few decades they must prepare for the Leap.”

“I understand now why you’re so concerned with the realities you saw,” Allura says. “Your people’s ability to turn their bodies into raw quintessence when they die…it’s absurd. I’m shocked the Galra haven’t come for Loimia during the ten-thousand years they’ve been on their rampage.”

Eminence Wrax nods their head. “You and I both, your highness. It’s been becoming a large concern of mine over the last seven months. If they hadn’t attacked during the civil war, our weakest time…” Their face falls into something strange. They then shake their head. “I’m curious as to why I see so many outcomes of them attacking now. It’s so hard to find a path that seems the most reasonable. With trying to keep our people at peace and trying to rebuild what we ourselves have broken down, I feel like I’ve been spread thin. Asking for Voltron…it’s the best way out, from what I can see.”

Lance finds himself frowning once again. Even Keith has stopped drawing on his tablet and has looked up to watch their conversation go down.

Allura says something that Lance can’t make out which has the Eminence smiling. The tension in the air eases its way out of the atmosphere, and Keith, albeit a little reluctantly, looks back down at his tablet. Across from him, Pidge is jotting down notes on the same application like crazy.

Maybe he should be participating more. You know, as their leader.

He feels Keith’s eyes on him and he turns his attention back to Keith. Keith squints at him and Lance gives him a weird look. He wants to ask what’s up but before he says anything, Keith looks down to his tablet and erases something. He dives back in but continuously glances back to Lance.

And… well, he can’t help himself. He scoots even closer to Keith and smushes his head next to Keith’s own. He doesn’t say anything as Keith tenses. He takes a look at what Keith’s doodling on his tablet.

There were multiple drawings on the page. Around the edges of the document were thick-lined doodles, almost as if a child had been drawing the Red Lion and robots with swords. A smile tugs on his lips as they scan the bold drawings, heartwarming affectionately.

But his eyes drift to the center of the page. The line art is sketchier that time around, softer strokes and bits of cut-off lines where Keith had erased. There stood seven people, arms wrapped around each other in a long hug.

Pidge’s glasses are blank with a sparkle on the glass, glinting like an anime villain's would, and Hunk’s smiling brightly with his eyes squeezed shut. Allura’s mid-eye roll with a grin tracing her wide lips. Keith had also drawn Shiro with a prideful curved smile.

Lance’s chest clenches at the sight. He opts to ignore the details of Shiro’s scar across the bridge of his nose that Keith probably would’ve forgotten if it weren’t for the dream he had during training the other day. He shakes it off and moves on, looking at the drawing Keith did of Lance himself.

The drawing of him is winking and holding a giant smirk across his lips. Somehow, Keith had managed to get his hair to look just as wavy as it’s been looking lately, and the freckles that dotted his upturned nose were all in the right places. He even got Lance’s dramatic eyebrows right!

And then next to Lance, there’s Keith. He’s drawn more crudely as if Keith rushed to finish the drawing of himself. He didn’t know why, though—if Lance had the skills, he’d probably draw himself all the time just to see what it’d look like. But Keith stands with his arm around Lance. Instead of having a face like the rest of them, Keith only has two dots for eyes and a curved line as a smile.

The drawing kind of reminds him of a family portrait. It fills Lance’s chest with a tenderness that he hasn’t felt in a long time.

“Whoa…”

“Don’t be _nosy_ ,” Keith grumbles as he grabs for his tablet.

The action snaps Lance back into reality. Before he can pull it away from his view, Lance grabs at it and somehow manages to snag it. Keith scoffs, sounding rather offended that Lance had been quick enough to snatch it from underneath him. Lance chooses to ignore his offense. He doesn’t want to look away from the drawing, and knowing Keith, he’d probably delete it in spite.

“Dude,” Lance’s wide eyes move to look at Keith. His voice still manages to be low enough as to not cause a disturbance in the meeting, but there’s no mistaking the awe in his tone. Keith reaches to grab the tablet, but Lance holds it away from him as he continues to admire the art. “I knew you drew sometimes, but I didn’t know you were an artist!”

Keith falters, just a bit. “What? _Artist_?” Keith sounds genuinely confused at his statement, and maybe a little pleased at the compliment, but he snaps back into gear and tries to reach for Lance’s hand again. “It’s just a sketch, give it back, asshole,”

“No way!” Lance looks back to the tablet, smile tilting on his lips as he looks at his team once again. “I wanna frame this. Do you think Alteans have printers?”

He watches as Keith bites back a smile. He’s still reaching out his gloved hand for the tablet, but he doesn’t seem to be as focused on getting the tablet as he is on rolling his eyes at Lance’s comment. Lance wants to scold him for that—he’s serious! The drawing is really sweet! Who knew that Keith’s such a big softy?

“Am not!” Keith grumbles, eyes growing a little darker as he scowls in Lance’s direction. His cheeks are flushed a gentle pink despite his supposed bitterness.

Oops. He must have said that out loud. He raises an eyebrow in Keith’s direction, grin spreading wider as he realizes that there isn’t any heat in his glare. He looks more embarrassed than anything.

“Are _too_ ,” Lance argues as he shifted his body around on the bench. “Wait wait wait wait _wait_. I’ll give you your tablet back on one condition.”

Keith narrows his eyes. “And that is?”

“Can I add something?” Lance asks eagerly. “You can make it on a new layer or whatever, I won't mess up what you drew already. Promise.”

Keith hesitates before he nods his head. Lance settles the tablet down on the table between them and Keith grabs his pen. With a few clicks, a new layer appears on the side, its settings below a color wheel. Lance immediately grabs for white and colors over Keith’s face before he selects black. Over the white-out, Lance begins to attempt to draw Keith’s face.

Once he’s finished, he smiles and pushes the tablet over to Keith.

Keith stares at it and then looks back to Lance. He’s bad at hiding the smile on his face and Lance’s stomach flutters at the sight.

“Why did you give me anime eyes and vampire fangs?” Keith tilts his head as he asks his question. His bangs slip off his forehead and Lance watches it fall, revealing the pale skin underneath. Keith raises an eyebrow and it’s much easier to see the dramatics of his full set of brows now that there isn’t any hair covering his face.

Geez. The castle is feeling kind of hot, too. Maybe he’s dying.

“I don’t know what to tell you, man. That’s literally what you look like,” Lance replies a second later. He offers a shrug of his shoulders before pushing the tablet back toward Keith.

Keith huffs but he doesn’t erase what Lance drew. He clicks a button at the top and saves the image. Lance bites his lip and forces back a smile. Maybe he can convince Keith to actually send him the drawing if he gets on his good side.

“Whatever.”

“Whatever your face.”

“That’s what I just said.”

Lance glares at him.

Before he can say anything else to Keith, on the far side of the room burst open. His body snaps straight up, rigid as his wide eyes meet a short figure standing near the doorway. Apparently, he wasn’t the only one who was startled by the noise because even Keith and Pidge are standing up from their seats, alongside the various guards who stand in attack-ready positions. Once the guards see who it is, they stand at ease.

Satha looks down at the short rocky figure with her arms folded over her stomach. She glares at him, looking as affronted as Lance feels. The shorter guy at least looks apologetic… at least Lance _thinks_ he does. It’s hard to decipher his expression when he doesn’t have eyes, malleable skin, or teeth. He’s the same species as the merchant from the street markets, but instead of his skin being gray, his is a dark ashen brown. The lava that runs underneath his skin pulses with light, sending warmth into the room that Lance is surprised he can feel at such a distance.

The first time Satha opens her mouth, chills rush down Lance’s spine. Goosebumps prickle at his arms, luckily covered by his undersuit and armor. She simply asks, “was that necessary?” to the short rock guy, but her voice is nothing like Lance has ever heard. She sounds almost robotic with the way she addresses him, but she also has multiple voices. Each one takes a different pitch and they overlap each other, some lagging behind to create a distorted sound.

The shorter man scoffs with energy that Lance has only seen from his Abuela and Coran.

“Of course I did, you fool!” He says, steam puffing from his mouth. “I have gifts for the Paladins of Voltron! Do _you_ have to be _here?_ ”

Satha arches her eyebrows above her first set of eyes. “Yes. It’s my job.”

“Well, _this_ is _my_ job.”

“Bobert. You’re…early,” Wrax says.

Lance immediately bites down on his lip to hold back an incredulous laugh. Did Wrax just call him _Bobert_? He glances over to Hunk, who has a similar look on his face. They turn to Pidge and Keith, both who are also barely holding it together. Allura looks unphased by the name but she glances over at Lance with a curious eyebrow raised. Lance takes a deep breath and waves his hand near his side. She nods her head slowly, still confused but at least catching the hint.

“Well, you know what they say. Early worm gets the worm.”

“That can’t be right.”

“What do _you_ know?” Bobert asks.

Wrax blinks at him. Their entire body language shifts from excited (maybe?) to tense. “Everything, Bobert. I know everything.” They say back. “I was just explaining the Evermore to Princess Allura and Yellow Paladin Hunk before our meeting officially started.”

Lance clenches his jaw. The meeting hasn’t officially started yet? Lance’s eyes flutter shut, and he takes a steady breath before opening them.

“Ah! You got me there!”

“Is he speaking in memes?” Pidge whispers.

Lance breathes out a deep breath. His lips quiver. “If you make me laugh, I’m taking away your video game privileges,” Lance whispers back.

Pidge zips her lips and tosses the invisible key behind her. Lance huffs out a chuckle and slowly slips back into his seat. Wrax waves Bobert and Satha over toward the front of the room and both Hunk and Allura move back toward him. Everyone takes their seats and Lance focuses his attention toward the Eminence.

“Voltron, please meet Loimia’s head of STEM, Bobert.” Wrax gestures their hand toward him. “And here is Satha. She is the General of Loimia’s armies, but the lack of war we face has her acting as my personal… advisor.”

Lance arches a brow. Oh, so they’re banging. Cool.

Next to him on his left, Allura offers the three a kind smile. Her eye twitches just a bit and Lance tilts his head to the side as he watches her expression fight back the sour acidity it wants to take. He hums to himself but doesn’t comment.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Voltron,” Satha says with a smile, showing the rows of sharp teeth she sports.

“Yes! We’ve heard many great things of you from Wrax,” says Bobert. “It’s an honor to be in the same space as intergalactic heroes! That is why we’ve bestowed gifts unto you! Did you get the tablets? I worked very hard on those, but they’re missing a few things that I just got finished working on. Ah, let me just…”—Bobert reaches into the pockets of his pants before he pulls out five small chips—“here we go!”

Pidge adjusts her glasses on her nose. “What are those?”

Bobert… smiles? His mouth opens and lava drips in the back of his throat, but he doesn’t say anything for a beat. “They’re for each of you. Wrax did something incredibly kind for all of you. Can’t you see their ill complexion? The gray color? Disgusting! Absolutely atrocious. They strained themselves so you each can have a bit of home with you.”

Wrax stares at the wall behind Lance. They look very, very tired.

“What do you mean, ‘a bit of home’?” Hunk presses. “Also Wrax never mentioned that Passing caused strain on them. I thought the Evermore just granted you eternal knowledge of… everything?”

They work out a tiny chuckle and pluck the small chips from Bobert’s hands. Before they can step down the small staircase to reach the ground level, Satha reaches out and tugs at the grip Wrax has on the chips. She pulls them away and offers another smile, although this time it’s much warmer. Satha carries the chips down, inspecting each oval before handing one to each of the Paladins.

“What Bobert is trying to say is that I Passed,” Wrax says once Satha is by their side once again. Lance stares down at the chip before he peels his gaze away to move back up to them. He really wishes he was paying attention before because he has no idea what Wrax is going on about. “Satha helped me become well aware of the struggles each of you is going through, and since she’s an empath, she gave me the idea of bringing a bit of the things you miss from Earth… to you.”

Lance’s eyes widen and he immediately looks back to the chip. Pidge pokes at hers curiously in front of him, looking about as eager as a kid in a candy store.

“I don’t understand…” Lance says. “What even is this?”

“You put it in your tablet,” Bobert says, clasping his hands in front of his abdomen. “It gives you written words! And—moving pictures! Tunes!”

Lance blinks. “Books, movies and… songs?”

“From Earth?”

“How did you do this?”

Wrax closes their eyes and holds up a hand, halting the overflowing questions from the Paladins. Lance’s hands clench and unclench into fists on top of the table as his legs shake underneath it. If it’s true… they have movies from Earth. Songs he knows the lyrics to. Books he never read but promised people he would.

He swallows around the lump forming in his throat. He could cry. He really could cry.

He hopes he doesn’t cry. He’s kind of tired that, he’s been doing it a lot lately.

“As I explained earlier, the Evermore gives me the ability to see… possibilities,” Wrax explains. “I was born clairvoyant, just as Satha was born an empath. So, not only did the Evermore show me multiple routes, but I already can see outcomes that are set on happening in this reality.”

“But the Evermore doesn’t do just that…” Allura continues, sitting on the edge of her seat.

Wrax laughs softly. Satha shifts next to them.

“No, it does not, Princess,” Wrax replies. “When granted with the abilities of the Evermore, you have the ability to travel through several dimensions. As Loimians are built up of the most quintessence we’ve seen in other alien species, it makes us more spiritual and malleable beings. Of course, this reality we only have this one life, but the Evermore makes it eternal.”

Lance pushes his hair away from his throbbing forehead.

“So…how did you…?” Keith shakes his head, disbelieving. “You got to Earth. How is that possible? How did you even manage to…?”

“I don’t want to bore you with your primitive quantum theories when another one of your Paladins is more opt to explain it better than I am.” Wrax waves their hand as if what they’re explaining isn’t blowing up their entire universe. “But once I got to the…wow, was it the ninth or tenth dimension? Either way, I was able to see every possible thing. Every outcome, past, present, and future. Realities where things are the same but your last name is different, where you have different colored armor, to realities where you fall in love on top of a snowy mountain on Earth during your winter festivities.”

Lance opens his mouth and closes it. What does he even say to that?

“So you just. Went to another dimension for a gift? Even when it affects your health?” Hunk asks.

Wrax blinks at him. “That is correct,” they work out after a moment. “And that is a reason why I called you all here today.”

“Although I don’t think it was worth the strain it put you through, we appreciate what you’ve done for us,” Allura says kindly. There’s a soft pitch to her voice that Lance recognizes as longing. He frowns at her, but she keeps her eyes steady on the Eminence. “I know we’ve all been rather homesick and during these times… it can be all that you think about. Whatever you need, I’m positive Voltron can help deliver.”

Wrax sighs. “Thank you, Princess Allura. I…” They look down at their feet for a brief moment before they lift their head back up to face the Paladins. The expression across their tired features seems even more strained than it did before. “What I ask of your team is a simple task. I’ve seen visions of Loimia in ruins. Destroyed and dominated by the Galra Empire. I’ve seen the Evermore stolen from our people and given to Zarkon’s witch, Haggar. With that power, I fear that the Empire could never be stopped. I am unsure of how solid this possibility is, but the paths that are growing to be more likely than others show that Loimia will fall, no matter what. I want to try my hardest to keep my people safe, but I worry that there’s a bigger picture here, too.”

Wrax’s hands smooth down their feathers from the back of their arms, hands shaking as they work through their wings. They move their eyes across each of his teammates before they land on Lance. Wrax holds his gaze before their eyes flick down to the floor. They shuffle more in their spot before they look back up toward Allura.

Lance’s chest tightens. They must be really scared. He doesn’t think he’s ever seen royalty lose their composure this much. As his eyes drift over to Satha, he meets her glare. Lance looks back to Wrax as quickly as his gaze had wandered.

“You want us to retrieve the Evermore for you?” Lance asks. Wrax looks back to him quickly, eyes wide. Lance’s brows twitch down.

“Yes,” Wrax replies. “We ask you to bring us back the Evermore and stay on the planet for as long as your team can manage. In return for the simple mission, we offer you the gifts of the tablet and Bobert’s help on the Green and Yellow Paladin’s communication device.

Pidge and Hunk snap into rigid lines. Lance frowns. Another thing about said communication device? Didn’t Wrax mention it in the transmission yesterday? Lance pouts. Was that the Super-Secret Project Hunk and Pidge spent the last few months working on? Lion and suit upgrades? _Lame_.

“Of course!”

“We accept those terms. Very, uh. Very good terms.”

Allura glances at Hunk and raises an eyebrow. Hunk doesn’t look back at her or Lance for that matter.

Wrax pauses before they slowly nod their head. “Uh, all right,” they say. Their eyes widen a bit and then they square their shoulders. “Uh, I mean, excellent. Thank you so much, Voltron. Satha, would you please, um, brief them on the details of. That.”

Satha fixes Wrax with a weird look before she nods her head.

“Of course, Wrax,” she replies as she glances over toward the team. She looks back at Wrax and very quietly says, “Leave this to me. You should get some rest.”

Lance and the other Paladins bid Wrax a farewell. They linger in the doorway, eyes fixed on Satha standing before the room before they peel their gaze away from her. They breathe out a small sigh and are escorted away from the room by two guards.

Lance watches them leave before turning back around to face Satha. As he’s turning, his eyes get caught by Keith. He isn’t looking at Lance, and that’s what makes the whole thing so… weird.

Keith is watching Satha, providing her his full attention. She’s divulging into Lance’s second history lesson of the day and he knows that he should listen, but for some reason, Keith is just... more interesting right now. He isn’t even doing anything important—okay, he _was_ , Voltron is very important, but it wasn’t like…

Lance frowns and shakes his head. He can’t snap out of his haze.

Instead of drawing like before, Keith has his notepad open and he’s jotting down a few words.

A halo of light surrounds his face and his hair, leaving it with a dark purple glow as it tumbles down into his eyes when he looks down at what he’s writing. Lance’s shoulders sag just a bit as his eyes flick across Keith’s soft cheeks, his strong jaw and crookedly round nose. His eyelashes look like they’re sprouting gold in the light.

Lance swallows. He can’t find it in himself to look away.

Somehow, it’s easy to forget about the slice of home that sits on Lance’s tablet’s screen in front of him.

It’s going to be a very long day.

 

 

>>>

 

 

Missions weren’t always boring, but this one really takes the cake. Most of the time there was something for Lance to focus on, like watching out for sentries or Galra generals, making sure he was in complete stealth mode while he sniped enemies away for his offense-fighting friends. But this time? Lance is stuck walking through ancient, moss-filled caves with Pidge.

Which isn’t a bad thing! Pidge is one of his best friends and she’s really cool, but like… they don’t really click when they’re alone. He thinks of her as a little sister! But even though he’s known her for almost two years now, he doesn’t really know what to talk about with her?

All he really knows about Pidge is that she’s Matt Holt’s little sister, Keith’s best friend (besides him, of course...hopefully), and she’s smart… to a point. Of course, now would be the perfect time to pester her over what Bobert had told them about some sort of communication device, but she’s avoiding his eyes.

In fact, she’s kind of quieter than usual, too.

“Sooo,” Lance drawls out nonchalantly, eyes trailing across the mossy ceilings of the caves down toward the various carvings in the wall. “What’s up with you, Pidgeotto?”

Pidge bristles and whips her head over to him. She squints at him through her visor, surprised expression morphing into something suspicious. Lance quirks a brow at her and mimics the frown that’s pulling at her lips.

“What do you mean?” Pidge asks, the look she’s giving Lance turning to a borderline glare. “What’s up? Nothing. What’s up with you?”

Lance glances away for a second before meeting her eyes once more. He gives her a weird look.

“Uh. I’m…good?” He replies. “I’m just trying to make conversation. You were being quiet but now you’re acting kind of… suspicious.”

Pidge scoffs but it sounds tight. She looks away from Lance and doesn’t say anything else.

They continue their trek in the cave, taking turns after Educated Guesses of where they should be going. They find themselves at an intersection a few times, and once they even bump into Keith, Hunk, and Allura.

The other three light up when they see him and Pidge. They converse for a moment, talking about the paths they’ve taken to ensure they don’t end up heading backward in the labyrinth. Hunk and Lance give each other dramatic hugs and a monologue as they part ways once again. They end up having to be dragged away by both Allura and Pidge respectfully, but the amusement that fills their once glazed-over eyes is worth it.

Once they’re alone again, Lance can’t help himself for pressing further.

“So... that communication device. Is that the Super-Secret Project you and Hunk have been working on all this time?”

Pidge pauses before she looks back at Lance. Instead of the annoyed look he expects her to have, there’s something weird on her face. His face falls as he meets her eyes. There’s something tense in the air the longer they hold their gaze.

“…Pidge?”

“It’s a…a surprise. Sorta.” Pidge mumbles. She turns her attention back to the path they’re supposed to be walking, but she doesn’t make any moves. Lance wonders when they had stopped walking but her words settle over him a second later. A surprise? That’s…weird. Why was it a surprise?

“What do you mean? Aren’t you just updating our helmets communicators? Or is it with the Lions?” He asks.

Pidge clenches her jaw. “It’s not like that. It’s—it’s different, Lance.”

“Different how?”

“It’s—it’s all trial and error. We don’t even know if it’ll work—”

“Bobert said he can help you guys find the thingy that you need.”

“Yeah, but even then, contacting Earth could still be incredibly dangerous. Plus, we have no way to know if the connection will be solid—”

“Wait.” Lance holds his hand up. Pidge snaps her jaw shut. “What do you mean, ‘contacting Earth’? That’s—that’s cross-galaxy communication. There’s no way we’d ever be able to get something like that… right? I mean, in all of the movies and whatever, they say the signal could be traced or—or that it used too much energy or power or something. That’s impossible, Pidge. There’s—why would you keep something like that from me?”

Pidge looks down at her boots. She fiddles with her hands in front of her stomach for a moment and any bitterness Lance was starting to conjure up dissipates. He can’t stay mad at her for something like that. She…she probably had her reasons.

“It’s just…like you said. There’s a lot of risk to it.” Pidge says after a moment. “Um, but since Shiro… Hunk and I realized that…you know. And I didn’t want to disappear from Mom for forever. Hunk didn’t want his moms and dad to always wonder what happened to him. And, you…” Pidge looks up at him, hazel eyes brimming with tears. “You’ve been having such a hard time, Lance. If you knew, and—and we couldn’t ever establish a connection…”

Lance breathes out a shaky sigh. “Pidge,” He mumbles. “I wouldn’t—I would’ve understood. You’re one of the smartest people I know, but even then, everyone has their limitations.”

Pidge sniffles. “I just didn’t want to let you down.”

He takes a step forward and pulls her into a hug. Their armor clanks together, and Pidge sputters out a wet laugh at the discomfort, but there’s a warmth there that Lance accepts with open arms. Pidge hugs him back with as much ferocity she can and Lance stumbles back from her force.

“You don’t have to worry about that sort of thing, Pidge,” Lance promises. “You’re already doing so much, okay? I’m proud of you for how strong you’re being here.”

Pidge nods her head, helmet probably scratching against Lance’s breastplate. Lance pats her back.

“Is that why you’ve been weird since the meeting with Wrax, Satha, and Bobert?” Lance presses further.

Pidge nods again. Lance breathes out a sigh.

“Well, it’s like I said—you don’t…have to be worried about that,” Lance assures. “Whatever happens with the communication device happens. And, if it works, then hell yeah. But if it doesn’t, then… we can go on like normal, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Pidge mumbles as she pulls herself away from Lance. She pushes her fingers underneath her visor and wipes the tears away from her lash-line. She nods again. “Okay. It’s—whatever happens, happens.”

He nods back. As Pidge straightens her back, Lance’s shoulders fall in relief. He pushes the thoughts that threaten to stumble into his head back. He doesn’t have time to think about the supposed communication device, no matter how much he wants to.

He has to stay realistic, okay? Achieving cross-galaxy communication sounds… tough.

 _Loimia is really advanced in technology. Maybe even further along than both Altea and Olkarion combined,_ his brain unhelpfully supplied.

Lance presses his lips into a thin line and shakes the thought off. Even if they could achieve a feat as great as that, he needs to focus on the mission. Zoning out during diplomacy is one thing, but not staying on his toes during a mission to retrieve the very thing Wrax was worried about the Galra stealing from them? That’s a bad idea. Really stupid.

_Plus, if we even were able to contact people back home, would they even want to talk to me? It’s been over a year since I’ve disappeared. I’m a ghost to them. The Garrison wouldn’t have told them what happened, even if they knew we were… what, abducted?_

Lance shakes his head. When that doesn’t make the thoughts swarming his head wipe away, he taps the side of his helmet with the heel of his palm. Pidge glances at him from the corners of her eyes and her face scrunches into something odd but she doesn’t say anything.

They take a right turn. And then a left. A few hundred paces and then another left turn.

He likes to think that he’s in good shape, so maybe he can blame the lack of sleep he’s been getting, but he’s _tired_. He kind of wants to curl up in a ball on the moss that litters the cave floors and take a quick thirty-minute nap.

They’ve been looking for the temple for, what, an hour by now? A nap sounds nice.

“Hey, Pidge—”

“No, we can’t take a break.”

“But my feet hurt!”

“I just cried but you don’t see _me_ bitching—”

“Hey! Language! You’re a baby!”

Pidge rolls her eyes so hard her head lolls with it. “I turn fifteen in a few days, Lance,” Pidge proudly says. “I’m an adult now.”

Lance scoffs. “Like hell you are!”

“If you can curse, then I can curse.”

“Hell is a place, not a bad word,” Lance reminds.

Pidge turns her head and glare at him. “Yeah, and I’ll be sending you there if you don’t stop complaining!”

He barks out a laugh that edges on a little anxious and Pidge snickers to herself. She rubs at her sticky cheeks and nudges Lance’s side with her elbow. Lance nudges back, gently enough to accidentally hurt her and upset her further. They lapse into silence as they take, you guessed it, another turn!

It takes about another fifteen minutes until they find a pathway lit with a multitude of colors. He stops in his tracks and glances over at Pidge. She readies her hand by her hip and despite the fact she should be on offense, Lance pulls his Bayard out of his armor and readies his rifle.

He takes the first step and them promptly lets his arm fall.

“This… looks like an entrance to a temple,” Lance says.

His eyes stretch over the glass doors that look like they’re covered in rainbow watercolor paint. He can’t see through them fully, only blurry outlines of things in the room, but everything around them is quiet except for their breathing and the gentle lapping of… water?

“Stay on guard.” Lance raises his Bayard again and pushes through the doors.

His eyes roam the room quickly, brow furrowed in concentration. Once he realizes that it’s clear, his Bayard flashes away with a soft beam of light. Pidge trails in behind him, eyes wide as she takes in the view next to him.

Lance’s vision is filled with rainbow reflections, nearly blinding him as he fully steps into the room from the exit of the cave.

The windows are tall and make up the entirety of the temple, leaving only metal lines which hold the glass together in hexagonal shapes. Even with the darkness from the caves, the temple fills with natural light. Lance looks up at the ceiling and through the glass there. From what he can see through the blurriness, it seems like the temple is inside of a…emptied out mountain?

Lance’s eyes widen. Holy crap. Holy—it’s a volcano. They’re _inside_ of a _volcano_.

And it’s _stunning_.

“Whoa…” Pidge mumbles.

“That’s certainly a word for it,” Lance says, but his voice is just as low and shocked as hers. “I’m gonna call this in…”

Before he can say anything else, Pidge rips her helmet off her head. She drops it to the floor near the entrance, letting the end of her open visor hit the inch of sparkling water that sloshes on the floor from their movement. She steps away from him instantly, opening her pouches on her belt to pull out her tablet. She snaps a few pictures of the room and mumbles excitedly to herself.

He peels his eyes away from her and taps the side of his helmet, opening the teams’ communications channel at will. Static fills his ears before it crackles to life.

 _“You cannot be that bored,”_ Allura’s voice comes in in a huff.

A smile tugs at Lance’s lips.

“I’m actually trying to report that we’ve found the temple. I’m sending our location to you.” Lance’s gauntlets project a screen in front of him. With a few taps, he opens a generated map of the area he and Pidge have traveled. A green and blue dot overlap each other and far down the maze in an unmapped area are red, yellow and pink orbs. “Oh, hey,” Lance says after a moment, hand hovering in the air. “You guys are the primary colors. Sort of.”

_“We’re missing Blue.”_

Lance’s smile widens at Keith’s deadpan tone. “Aww, Mullet,” He coos. “You miss me?”

Keith scoffs. _“Absolutely not. Pink just isn’t a primary color. It’s supposed to be yellow, red and blue.”_

“Pink is just a lightish red,” Lance grumbles as he swipes his fingers, dragging his and Pidge’s color-coded icons over to Allura’s.

_“Oh—I’ve received your location. And…see, Hunk! I told you we were heading in the right direction!”_

_“How was I supposed to know that? I’ve never been here before! Don’t ask for my opinion on things like that, Allura, you know I have a lot on my mind!”_

Lance laughs quietly. “All right, I’m signing off now. See you three in a jiffy.”

After turning off his comms, Lance follows Pidge’s lead and pulls off his helmet. He drops it next to hers in the pool of water, relishing in the breeze from the entrance of the temple that brushes against his face.

When he turns around to face the room in full, Lance can’t help the way his lips part in awe. Even with the lack of sunlight, bits of moss and vines trail the bottoms of the glass walls, creeping upwards toward the ceiling. In the center of the room, there’s a marble pedestal with a glass dome sitting on top of it that matches the ceiling.

_Isn’t it pretty?_

Lance furrows his brows. That must be where the Evermore is. As Lance takes a few steps forward, he can see the crown. It looks like Allura’s tiara, but it’s made of wood with a jagged teal stone resting near the highest vertex. It looks like an elven crown from any fairytale but there’s something powerful that radiates off it that reminds him that there’s a higher meaning to it than just royalty.

It _is_ really pretty, though. That unfamiliar voice in his head was right.

“Isn’t the glass so cool? I can’t believe we’re inside of an empty Volcano right now! I wonder how the light reflects off of the crystals into here, it’s a little cloudy outside. The light has to be old and still bouncing around from crystal to crystal, or maybe—”

He ignores her blabbering as he usually does. He takes another step forward until he’s facing the glass dome head on.

A small smile twitches at his lips and he zeroes in on the teal stone resting near the top. It glows just a bit, almost as tantalizing as the chilly brush in the back of his head. His fingers brush the glass. He doesn’t wince at the icy feeling as it spreads throughout him. It seems to emanate from the back of his mind, a push that he’s distantly surprised he registers throughout the haze. The Black Lion has grown surprisingly familiar despite him only connecting with them a handful of times.

 _Go_. _Put it on_.

He blinks and realizes that the Evermore is no longer resting on its marble pedestal but now is clutched in his hands. The wood is smooth against his hands, soft like driftwood from the ocean. He stares down at the Evermore with a small frown taking his lips. When had he lifted the glass and taken it out of the dome?

Knitting his brows, he glances out the corners of his eyes. Pidge is still marveling at the walls of crystals, mumbling to herself and every once in a while, prodding them until they sparkled underneath her. She’s too curious sometimes.

He looks back to the Evermore. His hands tremble.

_Lance, this is the right path. This is the first step to finding what we are looking for. Put on the Evermore and good will come to you._

The Black Lion…have they always referred to Lance by his name? Not even Blue used his name, she always referred to him as Paladin or even Cub when she was teasing. His heart skips a beat and he takes a deep breath.

He follows the Black Lion’s orders.

Pidge turns her head, voice dying out as she meets his fleeting gaze. It takes one second for the realization to dawn on her and her eyes widen and her mouth falls open with a silent scream and she barrels toward him.

The crown fits perfectly.

And… then there’s glass. Not from the building surrounding him—no, he thinks he sees glass fracture in front of his eyes. The world around him shatters, cracking with jagged lines through the reality that he knows. And for some reason, he thinks it should feel familiar. Things like this happen to people like him all of the time, yet he finds himself afraid. Afraid and stumbling backward, foot by foot, until he’s on the floor staring at the broken mirrors that surround him. Except, no—that can’t be right, either. _Mirrors_?

Everything’s falling apart, moving so fast but so _slow_. He’s losing frames, lagging as he looks down and lifts his hands. They stutter until everything catches up to his movement. His hands are no longer multiplied but everything around him begins to spin as he stills.

The person he’s with is yelling his name. That’s his name, right? His name’s Lance?

Said person’s voice is cracking and the sound pierces his ears until he’s sure that blood is trickling from the canal. He can only hear ringing. His body is heavy. That must be why he’s on the floor instead of standing up like he had been hours—or was it seconds?—before. Time is a weird thing. He’s either freshly born or millions of years old or somewhere in between.

He wonders if he’s going crazy.

Something grabs his shoulder, warm, and his entire body jolts as a gasp is torn from him against his will. If it’s because of fear or because he forgot that he isn’t alone, he doesn’t know. He looks up and meets wide hazel eyes. They’re glossy and matched with quivering lips. It’s a girl. Recognition sparks in the back of his mind, but it’s not enough for him to place a name to her face.

She says something to him. His eyes follow her lips’ movements, but he’s unable to catch a word that she speaks. She’s angry, thick brows furrowed into her eyes. Tears stream down her cheeks in thick globs. She’s still speaking, and by the looks of it, she’s saying the same thing over and over.

— _“Come on. Come_ on _. Not you too. I can’t lose you too.”_ —

The ringing gets louder. His eyes flutter shut. Her grip on him tightens.

He wants to remember her. He thinks maybe if he tries hard enough, he’ll be able to. He just has to focus—he can’t let this slip away from him.

His eyes open. He isn’t enough, he knows that, but he has to try. She’s scared, just like him.

If he’s weak enough to leave her behind like this, as the world falls apart around them, then what the hell is he doing out here? Why is he still fighting? He has to be enough. He has to remember where he went wrong, where he screwed up.

Because he had to have screwed up. He isn’t enough for this war—he’s trembling, exhausted, and the world is falling apart in front of him and he still _somehow_ blames himself. It’s ridiculous. He knows that, and yet...

The thought is oddly peaceful. Maybe that isn’t the right word for it, but he tries it on for size anyway. It fits like a glove. So maybe that’s why he’s here, why reality is shattering and he’s breaking with it. He isn’t _enough_. But if he’s to blame for everything, he doesn’t feel guilty. He feels guilty for _that,_ though. Isn’t that strange? Maybe he shouldn’t even bother pinning names to emotions, especially when they’re as convoluted as his train of thought.

He doesn’t know how he got here. He doesn’t know much of anything.

Blinking away the bleariness and embracing the darkness that creeps around the edges of his vision, his attention moves past the choppy strawberry blonde locks, past her shoulder to the iridescent doorway across the room. It opens. He sees brown skin, blonde curls that bounce with urgency as another woman rushes in. She’s scrambling, tripping over her dress so she hikes it up to her knees, showing off her clawed toes— _her anklet is Mamá’s favorite shade of blue. I should ask Satha where she got it so I can give her one when I see her next_ —and with her free hands, she reaches out towards them. Her mouth is open and the ringing gets louder and he realizes that she’s shouting, cold black eyes somehow alight with horror and...

And then he’s weightless.

It’s funny how the burden of things come crashing down when he’s lighter than a feather.

He almost floats through the ceiling but something forces him to his feet. Maybe it’s the fact that he can hear Pidge crying and Satha saying something in her native language that isn’t translating, or maybe it’s because he’s not really in his _body._ He stares down at himself being clutched in Pidge’s arms, ears and nose bleeding. His arms twitch but his body is still otherwise.

“I have no idea why he put it on,” cries Pidge. Her voice cracks a bit as she looks over to Satha. Satha says something else, clicking and adding sounds together that he doesn’t understand (especially with the way her voices layer over each other), and Pidge chokes out a sob. “No, there has to be another way! We have to take this off of him—”

Lance tilts his head to the side. He watches until Allura, Hunk, and Keith burst into the room, panting and tripping over each other until they drop to the floor once they’re at his side. All three of them saying a lot of things and their sentences overlap and he’s only able to get a few words in, like: _not beating_ , _CPR_ , _call them here_ , and _keep the Evermore on him_.

Hunk’s pressing his lips against his. He can almost feel the air push into his lungs from a few feet away. His chest aches where Hunk compresses it.

Pidge clutches on to Keith, her head buried in his shoulder. Keith holds on to her as she shakes against him, sobs echoing off of the walls. Silent tears slip down Keith’s face. His expression is blank.

“Come on, Lance,” Hunk grunts. “You can do it. Come on,”

“Please…” Keith whispers. “Please please _please_ ,”

Lance closes his eyes.

“He’s not—Lance isn’t responding,” Hunk grumbles.

“He can’t die!”

“This isn’t supposed to happen… I don’t understand what happened.”

Lance exhales. Tension eases out of him.

 

“Lance!”

He opens his eyes and is met with a pair like his own. Instead of rainbow glass surrounding him, he’s met with a familiar scene. White accented brick walls, a dark brown dining table, squared tile floors with a crack near one of the dining chairs legs. An open window which reveals green grass and a single tree with a worn-out tire-swing.

A warm breeze and orange-tinted light.

He doesn’t care for it, it’s just his dining room. Just his mom and twin sister standing in front of him, both looking increasingly bitter. He doesn’t care for that at all, either. His hands clench into fists at his sides, shoulders hiked up to his ears and he knows he’s glaring with as much heat as the sun outside, but—

He’s furious.

“You don’t get to dictate my future!” He spits out without even thinking. He doesn’t have to, he knows what he wants to say. He’s spent ages thinking over and over, staring at his ceiling and trying not to cry from the frustration. And even though he hates fighting, hates raising his voice so he can be heard just once, that’s all he can do now. “It’s not fair. You can’t keep me on a leash because—”

“Choose your next words very carefully, flaco,” Rachel mumbles. She looks down at her nails, a flat expression on her face. He knows her well, though; she’s mad at him, too. She won’t say it. She never says it, she just lets it stir and stir until she lashes out. Until she’s doing what Lance does right now. Lance sucks in a deep breath and tries his hardest to heed her warning. Rachel looks up to him, and then over to Luisa like she’s waiting to see how this goes down.

His mother is staring at him, ignoring Rachel better than Lance would’ve thought possible. Her face is pulled into something strange. There’s a bit of a glare like she’s mad—there’s no doubt about that—but then there’s a heavy sadness in her eyes. The blue turns the same shade of gray as the skies in hurricane season.

It only makes Lance angrier. He has a right. He has a _right_ here. A right to be angry and sad and—

She can’t control his life and his future because of _him_.

“Just because Dad had an accident and died doesn’t mean I will,” says Lance, voice pushing back down to a steady level in a weak attempt to compose himself. He still sounds too rigid. Too cold. It’s as good as it’ll get. “Veronica works at the Galaxy Garrison and attended school there herself. Why am I any different?”

“You are not your sister,” Luisa replies firmly like there’s no room for argument. Lance rolls his eyes and clenches his fists tighter. His hands are shaking at his sides, but Luisa doesn’t seem to notice or care. “You—you are choosing to move two-thousand miles away to live in The _United States_ and join the military! You’re fourteen, Leandro!”

“Veronica did the same exact thing!” Lance throws his hands up for emphasis. “You _know_ how hard I worked for this. You know how hard it was for me, and you supported me _until_ I got the acceptance letter…" Lance’s hands drop down to his side. His eyes break away from his mama’s figure and he looks down at the floorboards. A cold feeling creeps into him, spreading through his veins as fast as lighting. He looks back up to meet Luisa’s eyes. “Did you even think I’d be able to get in?” He adds a moment later.

He hates how weak he sounds.

Luisa is quiet for a moment too long. His heart crumbles in his chest and his body grows lax. When his throat tightens and he has to blink back tears, he selfishly wants her to see whatever bits of pain that show on his face.

No. No, she doesn’t even get _that_. Not from him. Not anymore.

Lance forces out a humorless laugh, but it sounds more like a choked sob. “I can’t believe you,” he says. Lance pushes his hair out of his eyes before letting it fall back into place. His hands shake with the force of suppressed anger. When he meets her gaze again, he can’t even see the guilt on her face. He wishes he could. “A+ parenting right there, if I say so myself. You’ll support your daughter but not your disabled son. Thanks a lot.”

Rachel closes her eyes and brings her hand up. She pinches the bridge of her nose and breathes out a sigh from her mouth. Underneath her breath, she murmurs, “It sure was nice knowing you.”

And—yeah, okay. He knows that he screwed up. He shouldn’t have said that to his mom, but he can’t find it inside of himself to feel guilty. The anger and hurt overshadow any other emotion he feels and it’s _ugly_. He hates feeling like this.

“You have no right to speak to me like that, Leandro,” She says. “I’ll say it one more time—you are fourteen. You are a _child_. You don’t know that this is what you want. You were studying to be a _physicist_ , Leandro. What happened to that?”

Lance waves her statement off weakly. “That’s what I wanted before but—that opened so many more doors. I want to do something with my life, not just research and talk theories. I’m _tired_ of that,” He explains, desperation dripping into his voice. Luisa raises her eyebrow at him, lips pressed into a firm line. He then adds, “Veronica was telling me about the first time she piloted and—”

“You want to be a _pilot_.” Luisa practically chuckles at the idea and she shakes her head like she still can’t believe it. The shadows underneath her eyes look more prominent in the light. “So you’re going join the army—then what? Spend the rest of your life fighting? Preparing for wars we aren’t even having? Waste your life away just because you want to…”

She closes her eyes. A sigh escapes her.

“You don’t have to follow in their footsteps.” She says.

That strikes a chord with Lance.

“I’m _not_ following in their footsteps!” He shouts.

Rachel flinches at the volume, eyes widening as she turns her attention back to Lance. After a moment her brows furrow low on her face and her gaze turns icy. He’s too lost in the moment to see her own bitterness spike. He’s focused on Luisa. Focused on trying to get her to understand.

Luisa remains stoic despite his outburst. He hates her for it a little bit.

“Why is it so hard for you to understand that this is something that I want for myself?” He asks, practically _begs_. If he sounds weaker, he has nothing to blame it on other than the sense of enervation he gets when fighting with the people he loves most. He just wants an answer. He just wants to know why she doesn’t believe in him. “ _Why_ does it always have to be _me_ living in _their_ shadows? Why can’t I just be doing this because it makes me happy? Is that not enough for you?”

Luisa’s eyes flutter shut. In a steady voice, she says, “You know that’s not what I meant.”

“But it’s what you said.”

His mom opens her eyes and he can see in her eyes that he’s won. There’s an acquainted exhaustion that pours out of her, making her look older than the forty years she has on her. Lance deflates, but only a bit—he’s too wound up to relax fully.

“You better be ready for this,” She says after a moment, voice firm yet as quiet as a whisper. Lance swallows around the lump in his throat but it doesn’t budge. His body thrums with energy as he stares up at Luisa, worried that if he blinks, her words will end up just being a hallucination. “The Garrison will kick your ass to hell and back, so if you want to be a pilot then you have to prove it.”

There’s a beat before Lance says, “I don’t have to prove anything to you.”

He wishes the statement were true.

Instead of replying to him, Luisa fixes him with a look that has him shrinking in on himself. She doesn’t say another word to him. After a moment of silence, she turns to her side and gives Rachel a look. When Rachel doesn’t say anything either, Luisa stalks out of the room through the rounded archway, house shoes clacking on the tile. As the footsteps fade, a door squeaks and then clicks shut.

Silence falls over the room until he releases a heavy sigh once he’s sure she’s gone.

“I don’t think she was talking about herself,” Rachel then says. Her voice has a sour tone to it, but her face remains impassive. Lance turns his attention to her, and a frown pulls at his lips. Rachel raises an eyebrow at him. “The Galaxy Garrison. That’s what she meant. I know enough about what Veronica does there to know that she’s spread thin, and she’s graduated. She doesn’t even pilot anymore, Lance.”

“Yeah,” Lance says back. “But that doesn’t change anything. I’m going to be a better pilot than any of them.”

Rachel presses her lips together. He watches her, just daring her to say something else. She looks as if she wants to rise to the challenge before she offers him a curt shrug. “You’ve crossed the starting line, flaco,” she says. “Good luck with that. And, also, thanks for ruining mamá’s mood before the party tonight. Glad that our birthday is going to be known as the day you broke her heart and left us for _America_.”

“I hate you,” He reminds her.

Rachel laughs but it sounds fake. “Love you too,” she says back before moving to the archway. She presses her hand against the frame and looks over her shoulder before she adds, “get your scrawny ass upstairs and shower. You can’t look greasy for our photos.”

Lance rolls his eyes and moves to turn around and follow her orders. “ _You’re_ the one who looks…”

His voice dies out as his gaze falls on a boundless black plane. Cold rushes at him with no remorse.

Lance staggers a bit, eyes widening as they spread across the rich hues of purple which blossom like flowers on a vine. White dots splatter against the colored void, shining brightly but too far away for Lance to feel their warmth. He finds two other dots against the darkscape, larger than the rest yet still hardly noticeable, each separately colored red and blue. Weird. As they catch his attention, the stars seem to shine brighter for a split second before they fade.

His brows knit together. This place is more familiar than the last.

He looks behind him, wondering if Rachel can see this too, but instead of seeing dusty white bricks, a dining room table for seven and his twin sister, there’s just more inescapable space.

A frown takes his lips, as well-known as the scenery that had shifted around him moments before. He was never in Cuba, was he? He was always here, always lost in this void. Always separated from his family with a fine line that’s light-years long.

He chokes on a heavy sigh and he remembers that he doesn’t need to breathe. Not here. Not anymore.

“Oh. You’re here again.”

A chuckle works its way out of Lance, dry and bitter in ways unlike him. He supposes this is what he gets for his afterlife. He has to see everyone he’s failed before he’s faced with eternal damnation or... or weird alien heaven. He hopes an Alien God has mercy on him. He was a rather good person despite everything, right? Maybe they’d end this torture before he must look Shiro in the eyes.

Spoiler alert: they didn’t.

Lance shifts his weight on to his other leg and isn’t exactly surprised when he doesn’t fall through the invisible floor, but it still sends a rush of anxiety through him as he rotates himself back around to meet Shiro.

“Don’t sound too disappointed,” Lance grumbles back. “It looks like you got yourself a buddy for eternity, now!”

He tries for a smile but he doesn’t think it pulls through. Shiro’s face pinches with something like worry. He stands up straighter and cocks his head to the side, lips pursing as he eyes him carefully. Surprisingly, Shiro looks...good. Like—not _good_ , because _ew ,_ that’s like, his _dad_ —but he looks _lively_.

Which, given the circumstance, is pretty funny.

“What are you trying to say?” Shiro asks. He raises an eyebrow and crosses his arms over his chest, body language so much like Keith’s that his heart aches just a bit. “You disappeared the last time you found me. Give it some time, you’ll hop back on your feet once Black is done doing...whatever they’re doing.”

Lance’s eyes flick away from Shiro’s, down to his feet. Instead of the gray hightops he wore here last time, he's suited up in his Paladin armor like Shiro. He outstretched his hand and watched sparkles of blue stardust stalk his movement before he clenched his fists. His hands were warm. They’ll probably get gradually colder, then.

“Not this time, Shiro,” Lance replies a second later. He peels his eyes away from his fist and looks back up at Shiro. “I did something stupid. I didn’t even know that I was doing it until it was too late, and then...the last thing I saw was Hunk giving my body CPR.”

Shiro frowns. “That’s impossible. When I died, it was like—” he snaps his finger—"and I ended up here.”

Lance opens his mouth to call bullshit before he snaps it shut.

“You’re dead?” he says lamely.

It’s supposed to be a question, but he knows the answer already. His throat tightens around nothing and he blinks quickly because no, no he won’t cry now. He had _months_ to cry.

_You were too busy taking care of everyone else._

He breaths out a shaky breath. There’s no use for it, he knows, but it’s an automatic reaction. Shiro’s eyes widen. For a moment, Lance swears he looks panicked at the reaction he’s having, but he somehow smooths it over with kindly placed concern.

“Did...you not know that?” He asks after a moment. Lance sniffles a bit. A tear slips down his cheek.

“We did, in a way,” Lance croaks and scrubs underneath his eyes, collecting tears on his gloves. “But assuming and knowing for a fact are two totally different things, you know?”

Shiro’s shoulders fall along with his expression. “I...I’m sorry, Lance.”

“Don’t apologize for dying, man—that's weird.”

Shiro offers a laugh and before he knows it, a firm hand is placed on his trembling shoulder. Lance jerks in response, ignoring the chill that rushes down his spine from the weird feeling.  His eyes shoot open and he looks up at him. Shiro’s eyes crinkle in the corner and he’s offering a small smile despite the fact that he’s consoling someone who is _literally_ mourning him.

“I have no idea what I’m doing. I’ve never had to tell someone that my death would be okay...” His face darkens for a moment. It’s gone before Lance can even react. “But it will be okay. I’m not quite sure how long I’ve been gone but Lance, you look like you’re growing up to be a strong man and...it sucks, being away from you all, but I know you. You’re the next Black Paladin! Everything... everything will be fine.”

Lance’s lip quivers. Shiro—he's so _stupid_! How will Lance be okay when he’s dead, too?

“It doesn’t matter if I’m the next Black Paladin or not, anymore,” Lance mumbles. “You’re still gone and now I’m dead. The team has suffered enough loss and now they can’t ever know that you’re...wherever the hell we are!”

Shiro bites his lip. His face pinches together into something weird and he looks up at the empty space that expands on for forever above them. When he looks back down to Lance, his face has smoothed away any concern that was there before. Lance wants to headbutt him, just a little.

“You aren’t dead, for one,” says Shiro. “And two, I was absorbed by the Black Lion. I’m still not really sure how you got here, though. But when I—uh, when I first got here, my skin was transparent, just as it is now. My body is just a mirage of quintessence right now, Lance. You... you’re _solid_.”

Lance nodded his head. What’s he supposed to say to that? If Shiro’s right, then at any point he could poof away again, leaving Shiro alone for...for forever.

“I’m assuming that the glowing tiara you have on your head is a part of the whole thing though.”

Lance blinks. The... tiara? He isn’t wearing a tiara, is he? Lance’s hands fly up and once he feels the smooth wood of the Evermore, he sighs, eyes fluttering shut as he collects himself. Right. That’s how he got here, that’s when his head got so...messy. He wracks his brain, thinking back to the meeting he had with Wrax, Satha, and Bobert. He doesn’t remember them saying anything about the Evermore, other than the fact that Wrax wore it once for a ceremony a few decades ago.

Did Wrax ever talk about a voice telling them to put it on?

He curses to himself. He was distracted during the meeting because Keith was drawing, he remembers now. It would’ve been useful information to know, especially since there’s a chance he could be stuck here for eternity.

But, then again... if he still has the Evermore on, maybe taking it off will get him out of the Black Lion. That way he can return to the team and tell them that what happened to Shiro. He can talk to Wrax and Satha about his dreams and tell the rest of the team that he might be the next Head of Voltron. He can—he can go _home_.

Lance opens his eyes and looks back to Shiro.

Taking off the Evermore would mean he’ll have to say goodbye.

“Is everything all right?” Shiro asks, voice warm.

Lance swallow down his heart that’s lodged in his throat. He’s bad at goodbyes.

“The tiara...it’s something called the Evermore. It’s from the planet Loimia. Something in the back of my head told me to put it on, and... I did. That’s when I had the out of body experience and that’s...how I ended up here with you.” Lance clenches his jaw. “So if I take this off, either nothing happens or... I’m outta here.”

Shiro blinks. He then nods slowly.

“Isn’t that a good thing?”

There’s a pause.

“Will you be okay?” He asks instead of answering.

Shiro pulls his hand back from Lance’s shoulder. It hangs awkwardly in the air, fingers curling in as if they’d been burned. Lance winces but he doesn’t peel his eyes away from his.

“What?” Shiro asks. “What do you mean?”

“Once I’m gone,” Lance presses. He ignores the way his voice cracks. “Will you be okay?”

Shiro opens his mouth. He looks to flounder for a moment before he closes it.

Then he says, “I’m dead, Lance. It doesn’t really matter?”

Lance clenches his jaw. “Of course it does!” He assures. “I don’t know if I can really do _anything_ , but if taking the Evermore off works then I want to—I want you to be okay. I can keep your company longer, or... or if you have something to want to say to anyone back home, I can tell them. I can’t just leave you here without...you know.”

Shiro crosses his arms over his chest. He looks...small, almost.

He often forgets how young Shiro is. He’s only seven or eight years older than Lance, right? He’s supposed to have a full life ahead of him. Maybe get married, start a family if that’s something he wants. But instead his life has turned to war and he’s trapped in space for forever.

Lance clenches his jaw. It’s not the time to think about how unfair their circumstances are.

“I...um, could you take a message for me?” He asks.

Lance blinks. A message? He didn’t expect that from Shiro but he’s hasty when he reaches into one of the pouches on his armor. He pulls out a small notepad that he’s only used a handful of times to jot down notes during diplomacy meetings. He tugs at the pen and pulls it from the spirals at the top of the journal before he hands them over to Shiro.

Shiro stares down at the pad of paper for a few seconds. His eyes hold something soft—there's sadness there, but also something else Lance can’t decipher. Shiro takes it from him with shaking hands. He mumbles something as he works with the pen, scrawling down messages over the page before he flips it to the back. He continues to write. Lance watches him, chest heavy as Shiro tries to get everything he wants to say jotted down on a small fraction of paper.

After a few minutes Shiro flips back to the first page he wrote on. He eyes trail the lines of the paper, scanning and reading over what he’s written. He flips the page and continues until he reaches the last sheet of paper. Lance watches him swallow.

“Can I read over what you wrote?” Lance asks, catching Shiro’s attention. “In case like... the paper doesn’t work and, you know. I never—see you again. Just so they’re able to hear everything?”

Shiro presses his lips together and nods his head. He doesn’t say anything as he hands Lance the notebook and pen. Lance wants to cry, but he doesn’t. He shouldn’t.

He reads everyone else's, begging himself to not forget what it says. He doesn't even know if he’ll be able to show them what Shiro wrote on the pages. What if his heartfelt words to Hunk, Pidge, Allura, Coran, Keith and—and someone named Adam?—don’t make it back?

Lance frowns but he doesn’t question it. From the way the message is written, there’s... a lot of regrets. He can feel the heartache interwoven between Shiro’s words. He can feel his desperation.

He takes in a deep breath and nods his head. Turning his attention back to Shiro, he smiles. It doesn’t feel right, it feels _heavy_ , but he doesn’t know what else to say to him. He doesn’t want to say goodbye, he hates goodbyes more than anything, but...

“So, this is it, huh?”

Shiro smiles back. “Yeah, I think so, buddy.”

Lance nods his head. His hair falls into his eyes and he brushes it away quickly, fingers thrumming against his scalp for the moment his hand is tangled in his bangs. Does he say goodbye now? Does he take off the Evermore and hope for the best?

Shiro steps forward and drags Lance into a hug. Lance’s arms float in the air and he can positively say that he didn’t expect a hug, but as Shiro grips him tightly, Lance doesn’t flinch at the fuzzy cold that seeps into him. He hugs Shiro back with as much love as he can muster up.

“I’ve missed you so much,” Lance breathes out. “It’s not the same without you around.”

Shiro sighs. “I know. I’m sorry that I wasn’t a better leader, but... they have you now. And you’re going to do great, Lance.”

A shaky breath rips its way out of Lance and if a few tears fall on to Shiro’s shoulder pads, he doesn’t say anything. His heart hurts so much, more than he’s ever thought could be possible. Losing his dad didn’t suck because he never knew him, but losing Shiro?

It hurts. It hurts so much.

“I just—I wish you were _here_ ,” Lance says. “This _sucks_.”

Shiro laughs at that. “Yeah. Yeah, it really does,” he says. “But it’ll be okay, Lance. Losing me was bad enough, you can’t keep the rest of the team waiting any longer. Especially if your whole out-of-body experience was real. They’re probably terrified out of their minds right now.”

Lance nods his head, nose brushing against Shiro’s armor. He doesn’t want to let go, but he thinks that it may be time.

“Yeah. I...I have to go,” He whispers. “Just. Will you be okay?”

Shiro pulls back from the hug and smiles.

“Yeah. Yeah, I’ll be okay, Lance.”

Lance nods. “Okay.” He mumbles. “Okay. Good.”

He takes a step back and Shiro does the same. Lance brings his hands up to his head, fingers brushing against the Evermore and he lets out a deep sigh. If this worked, then...he’d find a way to make things better. He has to.

“Oh, and, Shiro?” He meets Shiro’s eyes and watches him raise an eyebrow. “You were an amazing leader. We could never ask for a better friend. You truly were the best, so... thank you. I... I’ll always admire you for that.”

Shiro’s eyes widen. His lips quiver and Lance’s heart aches as it's been doing for the last seven months. Before Lance can say anything else, Shiro pulls on a dazzling smile. It’s watery but there’s something relieved underneath it that pulls the weight off Lance’s chest.

“Go home, Lance,” He says. “They’re waiting for you.”

 

When he opens his eyes, he’s met with a mass of rainbow stalactite crystals that sprout from the ceiling. The entire room shines with multicolored lines across the smooth white walls, but other than the glowing crystals, everything else is dimly lit. He’s lying on something soft—a bed, probably, but the machines that connect to it makes him think that maybe he’s in a hospice.

His hand is holding something solid, though, so he must be alive.

A soft sigh falls from his lips as he tries to blink away sleep. Despite the exhaustion that settles deep within his bones, Lance lifts his head so he can get a better look at the room. There’s a window overlooking the palace on his right side. In the darkness of Loimia’s night, the streets are still lit with golden light. He can’t hear anyone but doors to restaurants and shops open and close and a few people still litter the streets. The moon rests in the middle of the sky, so similar yet so different to Earth’s own.

Next to his bed is a pulled-up chair, occupied by a mulleted sleepyhead. Keith's face is pressed against the edge of the mattress and his shoulders rise and fall in steady motions, so he must be sleeping. His hand is still tight against Lance’s, though, and that warms his heart in a way that he’d never admit.

Even then, Lance can’t bring himself to pull away from the comforting hold. He doesn’t want to.

Looking down at his other hand, he finds that he’s gripping the Evermore. His hand is shaking just a bit from the strain, so he lets it drop on to his stomach. It lands perfectly, staring at him with its menacing glow.

He should probably wake Keith up, but...

Instead, he lets his head fall back down on the pillow. It’s been a long day and he’s _tired._ Getting a few moments of genuine rest wouldn’t hurt, would it? Keith will most likely wake up soon, anyway. There’s no way he’s comfortable leaning against his bed like that.

Lance breathes out another sigh and closes his eyes. If he interlocks his fingers with Keith’s as he drifts off into a dreamless sleep, no one can prove anything.

He’s safe and he’s at home. He doesn’t want anything else right now.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So… it’s been a while. Hopefully, this chapter makes up for my absence? It’s long with an extra dose of stupid pining. I’m really proud of how this one came out, even though I wanted to give up on writing it like… a dozen times. I’m really glad that I stuck it out until the end!
> 
> Also, give a HUGE thanks to my friends Anna (lujanne + my wonderful beta reader) and Darcy (taxashi / thespacenico) for supporting me through my 349857348957 breakdowns I had over this chapter! I love you guys so much. Go check out their tumblrs if you’re gay. 
> 
> Oh, also, happy birthday to our favorite Green Paladin. Hope she's having a nice day because she sure isn't in this universe.
> 
> Comments and reviews really motivate me! I smile so much when I get the email notifications from you guys. They really do speed up the writing process -wink wink-
> 
> Thank you so much for reading! I’ll see you next time!
> 
> \- Cato
> 
> [tumblr](https://ghozting.tumblr.com) | [twitter](https://twitter.com/hoktril)
> 
> EDIT: [LOOK AT THIS AMAZING ART KIT DREW FOR THIS CHAPTER!](https://amestesia.tumblr.com/post/184046862315/hes-safe-and-hes-at-home-he-doesnt-want)


	5. iv. The Suspension of Disbelief

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lance lets the light shine in and it reveals something he thinks he might've known all along. The team has an important discussion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Potential Triggers for This Chapter:
> 
> \- hospitals  
> \- descriptions of anxiety  
> \- nsfw jokes

 

 >>>

 

 

032820XX

 

Lance’s eyes flutter open to the early morning light. The beams filter in through the window next to him, sending golden lines across the sheets and onto the walls. He hears soft chatter outside of his door, some voices familiar and some not. He isn’t sure who he recognizes out there, but his chest warms regardless.

Turning his cheek, Lance looks toward the empty bed space on his right. Keith is no longer sleeping there, leaving Lance’s hand and the sheets cold in his wake. On the opposite side of the room is a water pitcher and two vases. One is filled with a white bouquet with a small card attached to the ribbon around the glass, and the other’s filled with mix-matched flowers, looking to be carelessly plucked from where they had been growing. There isn’t a card on the second vase, but with the amount of red, blue and purple flowers that have been bunched together, he has a fairly good idea as to who they’re from.

Lance looks back toward the ceiling of crystals and blinks, eyelids heavy as sleep still laps against him in languid waves. If he dreamed last night, he doesn’t remember it. While he wants to curl back into his hospice and pull the warm sheets up to his cheek, Lance doesn’t move an inch.

He’s peaceful despite the fact he’s just faced death. That usually takes him at _least_ a week for him to get over.

There’s a brush against the back of his mind, shockingly cool before it warms into something pleasant. A weak smile pulls on his face and his eyes flutter shut once again. Blue doesn’t say anything to him, but she’s there, dancing around him and the memories of yesterday in a gentle waltz.

She doesn’t press, doesn’t ask him what happened. Lance doesn’t think she needs to.

 _Maybe you should get some more rest, little one,_ Blue suggests a moment later.

It _was_ the best sleep he’s gotten in ages. Even when Voltron was on the previous planet—before this colossal mess he knows he has to bring up after he’s had a cup of coffee or the alien equivalent of—his sleep wasn’t this good. He’s refreshed like someone has ripped all of the bad feelings from his brain and stuffed them in some garbage can light-years away from him. It’s _nice_ , and yet…

There’s a creak from his left. The sound of a door sealing shut. Footsteps inch closer toward him, light against the tile floors.

A hand cups his cheek and he shivers against the heat of the palm. Lance’s eyes blink back open. He thinks he’s going for a glare toward whoever’s touching his face—because uh, his _pores_ , thank you very much—but it falters when he’s met with wide eyes. They’re…the color of midnight. A little purple in the light. Shiny, hopeful. Longing. More adjectives that Lance’s brain is too addled to come up with.

The eyes move between Lance’s, flicking back and forth with rapt attention as if he can tell what Lance is thinking by just looking at him.

Lance swallows, mouth bitter and dry.

“Are you actually awake this time?” asks Keith, voice gentle with a hint of amusement. His warm breath that smells of cinnamon hits Lance’s face, but it surprisingly isn’t unpleasant, which…weird, right?

Lance ignores the thought and offers him a tired hum and then closes his eyes. He leans closer to Keith’s palm, trying to absorb the warmth through the leather gloves that smell like fading, Altean laundry detergent. It doesn’t really work the way he wishes it could, but the closeness is nice. There’s a hint of something piney floating around him that floods his senses with a strange type of comfort.

It’s a little weird to think that he has Keith’s scent memorized, but uh, there it is.

But maybe it isn’t weird. It’s just _Keith_ , and he feels like he’s everywhere around him—his warmth and his smell just floating around Lance like clouds.

At least he’s better than the smell of citrusy cleaning supplies the hospital uses—if that’s where he is, even. That’s probably important information for him to have. He doesn’t really know where he is or how long he’s been out—the last time he went inside of the Black Lion (holy crow, he was inside of the _Black Lion_!), he slept for nearly twenty-four hours, so there’s a chance it’s been a while since any one of his teammates have seen him.

“How long this time around?” Lance croaks, his voice rough from disuse. “Coma?”

Keith chuckles. “Only seventeen hours. Try harder next time,” he replies, but something about his voice sounds tight. Lance peeks an eye open to get a good look at him and is met with Keith’s lips, dipped into a barely-there frown. “You really scared us back there, you know,” he adds, softer.

Lance makes another sound which sounds like a ‘mhm’. He moves to lift his hand only to find the weight of it to be heavier than usual. He pushes through, trembling, and touches Keith’s hands with his. It’s a weak attempt at comforting, but it’s the best Lance can offer right now. Keith’s eyes widen a fraction. Something gleams inside of them that sends a thrill down Lance’s spine.

Blue is still purring in the back of his head. His thoughts are still swirling around inside of his skull like a glass of wine, and _man_ , he could use a drink. Something other than water—he’s getting sick of water, despite the fact that because of Voltron, he’s the most hydrated he’s been in his life. Fuzzy soda bubbles sound nice—but, _oh_ , so does coffee. He really wants coffee now.

“Been doin’ that a lot lately,” He mumbles, offering a weak tilt of his lips. Keith’s brows twitch lower. “Sorry about that. I didn’t have a choice this time ‘round.”

Keith exhales a sigh. “We’d all appreciate it if you’d stop trying to die. Weren’t you listening to Wrax at all yesterday?” Keith pulls back and his hand drops down to his sides. “What were you thinking?”

Lance’s face pinches together. He blinks slowly and drops his hand back next to him, not even stopping it from bouncing on the mattress. So they’re really doing this right now? A lecture before breakfast, from Keith no less?

“Not in the mood for that right now, Kogane.”

Keith shuts his eyes. Lance knows he wants to argue, but for some reason, he doesn’t. His body sags like the tension has evaporated from inside of him, leaving him looking more exhausted than Lance has seen him in months.

“I know. I should let you wake up before I start bitching,” he grumbles as he moves his hand up to his face. He pinches the bridge of his nose, eyebrows scrunching lower and lower above his eyes by the second. “I’m just—I’m tired of worrying about you. Someone should put you on a leash; I think you’re becoming more impulsive than me.”

Rough laughter breaks out of Lance and he coughs on it. His throat’s drier than he had realized.

Keith quickly moves to the opposite wall. Glasses clink and before Lance can ask what he’s doing, Keith’s by his side once again and he’s being handed a cup of water. He stares at it for a moment before Lance chugs the entire cup, making gross slurping sounds that even have Keith cringing. Once he’s finished, he hands the glass back to Keith and Keith turns to set the water back next to the pitcher.

The water is uncomfortable on his empty stomach, and even though Lance could really go for some food goo right about now, he doesn’t have the motivation to crawl out of his hospice. He isn’t even sure if he’s allowed to leave yet.

“What time is it?” he asks.

“A little past 0800.” Keith glances over his shoulder, meeting Lance’s eyes. “You haven’t eaten in a while. You’re probably hungry, huh?”

Lance’s stomach makes a sad sound, betraying him and his previous thought.

Keith chuckles—either at the sheer volume of the rumble or the pout that takes Lance’s lips, he isn’t sure—before he turns back to face the wall and the water pitcher he’s messing with. The gruff noise sends a pleasant thrum inside Lance’s chest.

He thinks back to the night before when he had first woken up to Keith’s hand entangled with his own, dark hair curling against the beige sheets of his hospice. He wonders how long Keith had stayed with him. He wonders if he even left the hospital at all. If Lance is hungry, then there’s a chance that Keith is too—the guy eats almost as much as Allura, Coran, and Hunk combined.

“How about a pick-me-up?” Lance proposes. “I’m pretty sure I saw a café place-thingy when Hunk and I were taking our walk yesterday. A little coffee date would be nice.”

Keith pauses. Lance watches as his muscles grow taut for the few moments it takes for Lance to blink at him. He tries to ignore the way cold sweeps through him, but he can’t help himself. Thinking back on what he said, it sort of sounds like he was asking Keith on a date, which—wasn’t what he meant. Not really. He meant a _friend_ date. Not like, a coffee date and holding hands and kissing in the rain, because kissing Keith wasn’t something he wanted to do. Not at all.

Like, Keith’s lips are usually chapped or split. It’d be uncomfortable and like. Did it even rain on Loimia? If it didn’t rain on Altea, then there was a chance that it didn’t do it here, either. He’ll ask Wrax or Satha or—or _Bobert_ about it later. That’s what he’ll do. It’s a great question.

Lance peels his eyes away and forces himself to stare down at his lap. He twiddles with his thumbs above his blanket and tries his hardest not to think about the very loud silence that’s stretching on a bit too long for him to not feel uncomfortable.

“Everyone is planning on coming to check on you around noon,” Keith finally says, turning his body halfway around to look at Lance.

Lance glances up from his hands, meeting Keith’s blank expression. Now that the morning light is hitting him directly, Keith looks like he could use a cup of coffee too. His eyes are red and the shadows underneath his eyes are heavier than Lance’s have ever been.

“So…maybe if I can get the doctors to sign off on you, we could…uh, run away for breakfast— _if_ you’re allowed to leave,” Keith adds.

Lance’s lips crack into a grin.

Keith looks momentarily stunned, eyes rounding and lips parting open, but he quickly masks it and offers a crooked smile in return.

It’s a nice smile.

After a beat, Keith peels his eyes away from Lance and he pulls out his tablet from one of the pockets on his tool belt, mumbling something about letting Allura know what they’re up to. Lance watches him push at the ends, adjusting the screen into something smaller. He pokes at it a few times before a pleased expression lights on his face and a small, “aha,” falls from his lips.

They end up calling for a doctor once Lance is dressed in the civvies that one of his friends brought for him. It takes a bit of begging from both of them, but the doctor ends up letting him and Keith leave the hospital for breakfast. He gives Keith a stern look and tells him to bring Lance back for his final checkup afterward and Keith, of course, promises they’ll be back before noon.

After they make their way down toward the check-in, Keith signs Lance out before they exit the hospital and start on their path toward the café.

The walk is longer than Lance expected, but it’s not necessarily a bad thing. It’s still early in the morning, so stores are either just opening up for the day or are already having patrons leaving for early morning shopping. Loimians walk the streets, some sluggish and others more energized with drinks in their hands, talking on their communication devices or with their friends.

He and Keith chat idly about nothing in particular. Lance easily spews bullshit, partially because who he is as a person but mostly because Keith keeps on glancing at him from the corner of his eyes with a weird look. It’s not his fault that he talks when he’s nervous. However, Keith answers his questions and asks a few of his own, but they’re obviously half-assed.

At least he’s trying.

Finding the café he’d seen with Hunk yesterday is like a dream come true. Even though he only spared it a single glance before, it wasn’t hard to miss the multicolored sign above the windows and the people loitering outside with their food and pyramid shaped glasses. He nudges Keith with his elbow to direct his attention from the cobblestone path that trails in front of them toward the storefront.

As they move down the street, Lance can’t miss the looks he and Keith are getting from various Loimians who’re sitting on patios outside or just walking along the road. A few offer shy waves and some just stare at the two, eyes wide before they whip out their tablets and either take pictures or type hastily. Lance smiles and waves and Keith ducks his head and pulls his shoulders up, cheeks ruddy from the attention.

“It’s like we’re famous!” Lance nudges Keith with his elbow.

“We _are_ famous, genius,” Keith whispers back. “How much do you think they know about what’s going on? With the Empire?”

Lance shrugs. “Hard to tell. Look at them—” Lance gestures toward the people crowding around the front of the shop—“They look peaceful to me. I’m sure that now we have the Evermore in safe hands, Wrax’s future vision will clear up and we can head on to the next planet that needs liberating.”

Keith presses his lips together and says nothing more. Lance stops in front of the café and grabs Keith’s elbow to halt him. He turns his head and looks at Lance before looking up at the orange and pink sign that rests above the front entrance.

“This the place?”

Lance nods his head. “Yeah! Doesn’t it give off café vibes?”

Keith tilts his head to the side, brows scrunching on his face. “Uh, not really?” He looks over to Lance. “What makes you think they’ll serve coffee here? Just because Alteans have… weird silver sludge doesn’t mean that it’s entirely universal.”

Lance rolls his eyes. “You’re no fun. Even if they don’t serve coffee, I’m sure they have something that’ll wake me up.”

Keith huffs. “All right, but if you get food poisoning because we don’t have Pidge here to scan whatever it is they serve here, don’t come crying to me.”

Lance opens his mouth to retort, maybe with something like, _you love it when I bother you about things like that because you get to go all mother-hen and say bad words at me_ , someone taps his shoulder.

Lance turns his head and is met with four pairs of inky-black eyes.

He blinks, surprised as he takes in the trio before him. The girl who tapped on his shoulder is a little shorter than him with a narrow face and thin lips, feathers on her arm a stormy gray which her skin and hair matches. On her left is a shorter person made up of white rocks, standing proudly with her arms on where Lance assumes her hips would be. On her right is another centaur-like person with reddish-brown skin. She watches Keith with googly-eyes, twirling her curly black hair.

Lance bites his tongue. _Don’t laugh. Don’t laugh. McClain, if you laugh, I swear to_ God _—_

“Sorry for bothering you, but we just overheard your conversation,” The girl who tapped him says with a smile. Her eyes crinkle in the corners. “You’re the Blue Paladin, right? From Voltron?”

He glances back at Keith, who looks a little bored before he turns back to the girl in front of him. He offers an unsure smile. “Yeah,” he replies easily, “I’m the Blue Paladin. Most people call me Lance, though.” He takes a step to the side, revealing Keith. “This is my partner, Keith. He pilots the Red Lion.”

The girl glances over to Keith before she looks back to Lance. “Cool. My name’s Marvos, and these are my friends, Ulrih and Elzehsa.” She gestures toward the rock girl and black haired one respectively. “We’re big fans of yours. We think it’s, like, totally cool that you’re touring our Planet and whatever.”

Lance’s grin cracks across his face. “Yeah? Loimia is pretty nice, don’t you think so, Keith?”

Keith startles just a bit at the mention of his name and looks over to Lance. It takes a second for him to register the question but once it does, something flashes in his eyes. A forced smile takes his lips and he nods enthusiastically. The change is so sudden that Lance can’t help but stare at him beat longer. He still has a nice smile, even if his eye is twitching just a tad.

“Yeah, it’s a beautiful planet,” Keith says as he brushes his bangs out of his face. Elzehsa watches his movement with wide eyes. “There’s a ton of beautiful people here too, huh?”

Lance’s smile drops. What. Did he just—?

Elzehsa laughs nervously. Keith glances over to Lance, smile widening a bit. Lance watches him, eyes wide and unsure of how to move on from the fact that Keith just flirted with a _girl_. His stomach tightens uncomfortably.

He forces himself to move on and he breathes out a small chuckle and turns back to Marvos.

“There most certainly is.” His reply comes out shaky. Marvos brightens under the attention but Lance pays her no mind. He can feel Keith’s gaze linger on his face.

_What the fuck. What the fuck? Why is Keith so smooth? He’s the most awkward person I know! How did he say that? Why does he know how to flirt?_

Marvos clasps her hands together in front of her chest, grin wide enough that it nearly stretches to her ears. She says something as Lance watches her movement, and doesn’t really hear what she’s saying.

He’s too distracted by the way the sunlight catches on the bracelet that’s wrapped around her wrist. It’s blue and achingly familiar.

“Where did you get that?” Lance asks, interrupting whatever Marvos is saying. Her sentence cuts short and she cocks her head to the side, lips pursing into a small pout. “Your bracelet, I mean,” He clarifies with a sweep of his hand.

Marvos pauses. Her eyes trail after Lance’s hand, down to her wrist before they lock onto the blue stones beaded on a leather strap. Her smile twitches. Lance glances down to the bracelet before looking back up and meeting her eyes. It’s hard to tell the emotions behind the blankness that’s stretched across her face, but she looks…uneasy.

“This old thing?” She replies a beat later, huffing out a small laugh. “It’s—it’s a family tradition. My mother made it for me.” She rushes out as she fiddles with the cobalt stones. “You like it?”

Lance clenches his jaw and then unclenches it. Something about the way she stutters sits with him strangely. Maybe he’s reading into it too much.

“Yeah…” Lance says, pushing out the force a second too late. “It’s my mom’s favorite color. It just reminded me of her for a second.”

Marvos pauses again, brows furrowed before her expression smoothens out. She laughs, and Lance doesn’t know what she finds funny, but this time she sounds much more genuine. It’s enough for the strange tension to be pushed aside, gone as quick as it came.

Next to him, Keith shifts on his feet, arms crossed over his chest. When Lance gives him a look, the sunshine is back on his face and he’s smiling alongside Marvos, but from the look in his eyes, he’s ten seconds from bolting to the nearest alleyway to hide out. Lance offers him a tiny smile and rests his arm on Keith’s shoulder, leaning against him. Keith’s smile twitches, suddenly seeming more genuine.

“Anyway, the ladies and I gotta’ get going now,” Marvos says as she tucks a gray strand behind her ear. “It was a pleasure meeting you guys. Hopefully, we can run into the rest of your team before your departure. It’d be an honor to meet everyone.”

“I’m sure the rest of the Paladins would love to meet you,” Keith assures.

Marvos laughs again. Lance doesn’t understand what’s so funny, but he keeps the smile on his face anyway.

“I’m sure we’ll be seeing you again soon,” She replies with a wink. Without anything else, she turns to Ulrih and Elzehsa and nods in the opposite direction. She turns on her heels and walks away. Ulrih follows without a word but Elzehsa hesitates before giving Keith a small wave and scurries off with the others.

As soon as the trio is gone, Keith breathes out a heavy sigh, threatening to melt into the ground. Lance laughs, albeit a bit nervously, and removes his arm from his shoulder.

“That was so draining,” Keith grumbles. “How does anyone do that? Why did I do that?”

“That’s what I’m trying to figure out,” Lance says with a strained chuckle. “I think Elzehsa has a crush on you, dude.”

Keith huffs, cheeks darkening. “Got some bad news for her, then.”

Lance chews on his bottom lip to fight back his scoff. Keith still manages to catch the chuckles that slip out of him and he smirks, pride wafting off of him in waves as he nods toward the glass doors of the Loimian café. Lance follows behind him, listening to the familiar chiming of a bell as Keith holds the door open for him.

A few patrons look up from books or their tablets before deciding they’re uninterested in both he and Keith. Lance breathes out a small breath in relief as they make their way toward the counter. The Loimian standing there freezes up upon seeing Keith and Lance and they stutter out your average, _Hello, how may I assist you this morning?_ , and Lance asks them about coffee.

It turns out that Keith was right—coffee was apparently not universal, but Loimia _did_ have fruit smoothies that provided as an early morning breakfast and energy boost. So, like, it’s _basically_ the same thing. He tells Keith that and he rolls his eyes.

They receive their total and Lance pats the back of his jeans before his face falls. He curses underneath his breath. Just to be sure, he pats his front pockets, his jackets’ pockets, and then his back pockets once again before he looks over to Keith sheepishly.

“I don’t have any GAC on me,” he says. “I think—this is the wrong pair of jeans. Did someone get them from the replicator? My wallet isn’t here.”

Keith stares at him blankly before he rolls his eyes again.

“You owe me.” He mumbles as he pulls out a handful of coins. Keith thumbs through them and puts the exact number owed on the counter before he drops double the amount into the tip jar.

The cashier smiles at them gratefully and hands over their glass pyramids and metal straws. They find a table near the front of the store, closest to the wide windows that spread across the storefront. Lance sits with his back facing the door and Keith settles across from him, eyeing his drink warily.

Lance raises a questioning eyebrow.

“We don’t have Pidge’s thingy,” Keith explains. Lance pouts and looks down at his red smoothie. Keith then adds, “You don’t have to pay me back if you try it first.”

“Deal,” Lance says and immediately sips his drink.

Keith’s eyes nearly bulge out of his head at Lance’s immediate response, but he calms down after Lance pulls away with sparkling eyes. The smoothie is really good—there isn’t a word for Lance to describe the alien fruit, but it’s a mix between something tropical and something citrusy with a dash of spice.

“If I die,” Keith prods the glass with his finger, “avenge me.”

Lance rolls his eyes. “I can see it now: _The Red Paladin of Voltron Dies by an Allergic Reaction to Space Coffee_ ,” Lance says, spreading his hand out in front of him like he’s envisioning a scene. “A true tragedy on the cover of the New Space Times!”

Keith gives him a flat look. “New Space Times?”

“It’s what we’re naming the Universe once the Galra Empire is defeated.”

“Of course,” Keith says. He looks away from Lance and looks down to his smoothie before he takes a tentative sip. His eyes widen and he pulls away from his straw, a pleasant surprise taking his expression. “Okay, not bad. I expected it to be terrible.”

Lance arches a brow. “I literally just drank it and didn’t throw up.” Lance tilts his head to the side. “Why did you expect it to be terrible? I think this is the best thing I’ve ever had. Of all time.”

Keith snorts. “I’m a picky eater?” He offers with a small shrug. “I’m picky in general. I thought you knew this.”

“Oh, I definitely do,” Lance says. “But I also know that when Hunk stress bakes, you’re the first person he goes to when he wants a taste tester—which, as best friend numero uno, I take offense to. But, regardless, I thought you’d trust me more!”

Keith blinks. “You—first of all, you just made a happy face? And you make that face a lot, like when you’re trying to distract me from working or training—”

“—I can be _very_ distracting, thank you for noticing—”

“— _and_ secondly, I trust you plenty…” Keith makes a face. “…Where it counts.”

“Where it—” Lance sputters, slamming his hands on the table. He gets a dirty look from someone across the café but he pays them no attention and instead focuses himself on Keith. “Where it counts? That’s—food counts! You made me poison check it, and then you were still wary!”

“You’re still alive, aren’t you?”

It takes Lance a second too long to force out a laugh. He can see the smirk wipe away from Keith’s face and something shift in his dark eyes. He’s no longer smiling, no longer even looking amused as he watches Lance like he’s trying to memorize his face.

Lance’s heart skips in his chest. He isn’t sure he can blame the feeling on the anxiety at the memory of what happened with the Evermore yesterday and that thought makes his hands suddenly clam up.

He looks down at the table, taking in the intricate details carved into the smooth metal. He swallows around the cold lump in his throat and drums his fingers against his thighs. He took too long to reply and now he’s left with an uncomfortable silence. Is Keith going to yell at him? He wanted to earlier, Lance remembers the bitterness in his voice when he had just woken up this morning. He won’t be able to manage Keith yelling at him, especially in public. He isn’t sure Keith knows better than to do that, too.

“The weather sure is nice here,” Lance blurts.

Keith’s quiet for a beat before he says, “Yeah. Sunny, kind of warm…”

“But not too warm.”

“Yeah. It’s a nice warmth.”

“I think it’s getting cloudy.”

“Oh, yeah.” Keith glares out the window, looking up toward the clouds that threaten to roll in and ruin Loimia’s ‘nice warmth’. “I guess it is. Maybe it’ll rain here.”

Lance ignores the same thought of kissing in the rain from earlier that threatens to plague his head. He nods and sips his drink loudly, earning a dirty look from Keith. He doesn’t really care; the cold of his smoothie is enough to take his mind off of those weird thoughts. First, he’s thinking that Keith’s cute, and now he’s— _not_ —thinking about kissing him in the rain.

He blames the weird sleep schedule. His brain is out of whack.

Setting his glass back on to the table, Lance does what he does best and decides to distract Keith from their awkward conversation.

“Remember those girls from outside?” Lance asks, trying for casual but knowing he’s failed when Keith levels him with an uninterested look.

“What about them?”

Lance taps his fingers against the surface of the table. “Oh, you know,” he drawls out, glancing out toward the street before looking back at Keith. “You just—surprised me. Not many openly gay guys flirt with women. I mean—unless like, you’re…uh. Anyway. What was up with that?”

Keith’s face flushes and he laughs awkwardly. Lance raises an eyebrow at him. That wasn’t the reaction he was expecting but as Keith leans back into his seat, he feels as if there’s an explanation coming on.

“I am gay, thanks,” Keith starts, refusing to meet Lance’s eyes. “And… I wasn’t _trying_ to flirt or anything. I just was surprised how easily you—you know, I thought all of your flirting was like, _you_ _know_ …”

Lance leans back in his own seat and crosses his arms across his chest. “Thought it was what?” He asks, despite knowing the answer.

“…Unreciprocated.” Keith mumbles, face pulling into a sour expression. “I mean, not that it’d be _impossible_ for someone to want to flirt with you. Uh, you know, as a Paladin of Voltron, you have the whole hero thing going on and—”

“Geez, Keith, spit it out.”

“I didn’t want to make you look bad by not saying anything?” Keith winces. “Because Marvos seemed, uh. Interested.”

Oh. Lance’s heart sinks in his chest. So, that’s why Keith was flirting. Why does he feel disappointed by that? Would he have preferred Keith to suddenly realize he likes girls too?

“So you were trying to be… a wingman?” Lance asks.

Keith looks up at Lance. “A—a wingman. Is that a pun?”

Lance snorts. “No, I mean…yes? But—that’s what you were doing. Right?”

Keith presses his brows together. “…Yeah. That’s. That’s what I was doing. I think.”

Lance takes a sip of his drink. “Where’d you even learn to flirt?” He questions a moment later.

“What?” Keith asks. “What do you mean?”

Lance rolls his eyes. “You know, that whole, ‘oh wow you guys are pretty’ thing? It was really smooth,” Lance says as a smile threatens to tug on his lips. Keith holds his gaze for a moment before his eyes dart away once again. Lance’s eyes widen. “Oh my God. Have you dated someone before? Have you touched lips with another handsome boy?!”

Keith’s cheeks look like they’re burning despite the weird look across his face.

“No, Lance,” he replies. “I’ve never dated or—touched lips? Seriously?”

Lance shrugs. “I mean, you’re a good flirt, even if it’s draining,” he says. “It’s a fair assumption.”

“Do I—” Keith waves his hand in front of his own face—“really look like someone who’d actually get to be in a relationship?”

“Hey! Dudes dig the emo look!” Lance claims because it’s _true_. The whole dark thing Keith has going on is…a really good look on him. He could pull off eyeliner, probably. He refuses to think about Keith with black lipstick on and he tells himself it’s because that’d be too goth for his style. “I’m just surprised that—you know. You have feelings like that for people. I’ve never thought of you having a boyfriend before.”

The thought now makes his stomach tighten, uncomfortable. Keith doesn’t seem like someone who’d hold hands with a person _or_ call them pet names. Lance frowns and pushes the thought away. Thinking about Keith being romantic with some guy is—weird. It’s weird.

“What’s with that face?” Keith asks lowly. “You look like you’re going to throw up. Don’t tell me you were actually poisoned by the smoothie.”

He sounds nervous. A little scared.

Lance laughs and shakes it off. “No! I’m just imagining what my best man speech would be at your wedding.” Lance clears his throat. “Would me talking about how I thought you’d end up alone as an old guy with a dozen cats and dogs instead of settling down be depressing?”

Keith glares at him.

“Okay, okay, okay.” Lance raises his hands in defense, but even with the cold look Keith shoots at him, he can’t help the smile that pulls at the corners of his mouth. “I know it sounds bad! I just—you don’t really seem like the type to be into, you know, love and happiness.”

“You’re such a dick.”

“Don’t be mean!” Lance cries through a series of chuckles. “You just always seemed so focused on other things, like…school and your conspiracy board and Voltron. The fact that you want to settle down one day, maybe start a family with some rando…it’s different!”

Keith rolls his eyes, crosses his arms and leans back in his chair. He levels Lance with a look that has him hesitating. Was he really being a dick here? He doesn’t mean to come off a rude, really! It’s just… surprisingly cute that Keith wants something like that. From the look that’s crossing Keith’s face now—a small frown, downcast eyes—he realizes he must have struck a chord in him.

“Well, sometimes what you want isn’t always what you get,” Keith says after the silence has settled over them.

Lance frowns, face pinching into something tight. He isn’t sure why, but the way Keith says that…it’s weird. Too close to home. He doesn’t push him, he knows better than that, so instead Lance just nods at him, silently urging him to continue talking.

Keith shifts in his seat, avoiding Lance’s eyes. He can tell that Keith knows he is looking at him, and the fact that he’s so adamant on staring at the corner of the table or out the window on his left makes Lance’s stomach softly churn. Maybe they weren’t close enough to be talking about hopes and dreams like this?

Keith sighs. “People like me…don’t get the fantastic love stories you read about in books or see in movies,” He says a moment later. His hand rests on the table, thumb brushing against the knuckle of his closed fist in a sweeping motion. Lance finds himself frowning.

“Are you joking?” He asks, tilting his head to the side as flicks the straw of his smoothie. “Gay people get amazing love stories. It’s not the early twenty-first century anymore, man.”

A laugh comes from Keith, but it’s too soft to sound genuine. Lance’s frown deepens.

“That’s not what I’m talking about,” says Keith. “But that adds to it. I mean, you know how hard it was to become _friends_ , and we’re roommates fighting a war together. Being autistic and— _and_ an alien? Ugh. I don’t know, starting over with new people…it sounds hard. Making connections with people is _really_ hard as is. Any fantasy I have for life after _all this_ will be just that—a fantasy.”

Lance’s heart drops. He never knew Keith felt that way. He knows that their friendship had a rocky start, and they were still sort of freshly made friends but did he really find connecting with everyone else that tough? He thinks back to the day he found Keith on the star deck; eyes rimmed with unshed tears over the loss of his brother. That day Lance put whatever complicated feelings he had toward him to the side and pulled him in and promised Keith that they were family.

Even though that’s what started their friendship, the weeks following were rocky. It was hard for them to suddenly shift into friendship, even with both of them trying to stop fighting over useless things. It ended up with a ton of awkward apologies and nervous laughter, but eventually, they molded together like they had been friends since the beginning.

His thoughts drift over to the other day when he had yelled at Keith in the hallways of the Castle. He remembers the look that had stretched across his face, the shock and anger and sadness and—

“I… didn’t know it was like that for you,” Lance replies, suddenly feeling worse. He peels his eyes away from Keith’s face and then looks down toward the glass pyramid, halfway full of sparkling red slush. He takes another sip and relishes in the citrusy-berry flavor that coats his tongue. It does nothing to tame the bitterness that’s swelling up inside of him. “I guess when you find people, you sort of…latch on, huh?”

Keith blinks at him. “This is a really depressing conversation, Moody.”

Shocked laughter bubbles out of Lance. “You’re right,” Lance agrees. “I’m more interested in hearing about your list of crushes you’ve had. Who knew you were a romantic at heart?”

Keith rolls his eyes again, but instead of the somber expression that had taken his face, a smile graces his lips and his eyes shine a little brighter.

“I’ve only had like, one serious… _crush_.” Keith cringes, either at himself or the flavor of his blue smoothie he had taken a drink of before he spoke. It may be the lighting inside of the café, but Keith’s cheeks are starting to turn red again and—

 _Dammit_ , it’s kind of endearing.

“Only one?” Lance asks, leaning forward on to the table. He rests his cheek in his palm and raises a lethargic brow. “Who’s the lucky guy who stole your heart, Mullet?”

“He’s…” Keith pauses. His eyes suddenly look far away, as if he’s lost in a memory. Lance watches him quietly, eyes flicking across Keith’s face before he snaps out of whatever trance he was in. “He’s no one.” Keith finishes anticlimactically. “Just a guy.”

Lance frowns. “You said he was a serious crush, though,” he points out. “So obviously he wasn’t ‘just a guy’. Unless, like, your version of a serious crush is seeing someone in the hallway and thinking that they’re hot.”

Keith laughs, fiddling with his straw. “No, it wasn’t—like that,” Keith says, sounding like he had to force the words out.

“Okaaay…” Lance raises an eyebrow. “Was he hot though?”

Keith looks at Lance, squinting just a bit. After a beat, he sighs. “Unfortunately.”

Lance cackles. “Amazing! You find people attractive!”

Keith scoffs and looks away. “I don’t know why you seem so surprised by that,” he says.

“You’re right, you _were_ ogling at that one alien guy that was with Nyma.” Lance grins when Keith straightens at his comment.

“His name was Rolo, and—I wasn’t _ogling_.”

“You remembered his name though.”

“You remembered Nyma’s!”

“I always remember someone who ties me up.”

Keith pauses. “Does…does that happen a lot?” He asks and then makes a weird face. “Actually, do I want to know?”

Lance laughs a little bit too loudly, earning him another dirty look from another customer. He leans back in his seat sheepishly and toys with his smoothies’ straw, avoiding Keith’s eye.

“You know, I’ve never actually dated anyone either,” Lance admits.

“What?” Keith asks. “Really? I thought you were well versed in the dating scene.”

Lance snaps his head up to look at Keith. “Whoa, really?”

“Eh.” Keith makes a so-so sign with his hand. Lance pouts when he laughs at him. “Don’t pout. If it means anything to you, you’ve probably done more than I have, so—“ Keith shrugs—“that counts as well-versed to me.”

Lance scoffs. “Nope. You and I are in the same boat, buddy.”

Keith raises an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

Lance hums. “You know. I’ve never dated anyone, and while I’m an _excellent_ flirt, I haven’t had my first kiss either.”

He glances up at Keith through his lashes and his met with a blank look across Keith’s face. His eyes hold something like a spark—maybe surprise, Lance isn’t quite sure. But then a small smile graces Keith’s lips and he shakes his head, almost in disbelief.

“What’s with the face?” Lance asks, defensive.

“Nothing, nothing…” Keith assures, but he has that smug tone to his voice that irks Lance in impossible ways. “It’s just. You sure are all talk, huh?”

“Okay, asshole—”

Keith laughs loudly, effectively cutting Lance’s sentence off halfway so he can watch Keith’s head tip back and body shake. His laughter is rough, scratchy like it’s an old record being dusted off and used again for the first time in ages. There’s something about it that sends butterflies erupting through Lance’s body, weirdly freeing yet still so trapped. His blood feels as if it’s made of sweet, molten lava and everything around him moves in slow motion as his eyes drag along Keith’s mirthful face.

Keith’s eyes crinkle at the corner. His canines are sharp, and his smile is really, really breathtaking.

“I can’t wait to fall in love,” he says just as Keith’s amusement dies down.

Lance’s cheeks heat up and he immediately looks away from Keith and directs his attention out of the window. Why did he just say that? What made him even _think_ about that _?_ He hopes his blush isn’t as noticeable as it feels, because his face is on fire now that he can feel Keith’s gaze linger on him.

He doesn’t say anything. Lance’s heart stutters in his chest.

Lance can deal with this. He can—he’ll just change the subject. Make a joke about waiting until marriage to have his first kiss to make his comment seem less out of the blue— _but is it really out of the blue?_ Lance pushes the thought aside. As he’s about to turn his head to the side to face Keith and say something unplanned, he’s interrupted.

“You don’t find it… scary?”

Keith’s question makes Lance pause. Behind his words, there’s a vulnerability that he has yet to see from Keith—something soft, almost concerned behind each syllable that leaves Lance hesitating. It’s a good question. It’s a great question because Keith knows Lance and he still asks anyway. And even though the intensity of his gaze leaves pinpricks rolling up his skin where his eyes trail, Lance settles back into the wiry chair and presses his lips together in a contemplative line.

“I don’t think scary is the right word for it.” Lance takes in a deep breath. “I mean like…thrilling would definitely be a better adjective. It’s like a rollercoaster, you know? Not really scary unless you think about the bad things.”

Keith cocks an eyebrow in his direction, mimicking his position in his chair, leaving his half-finished smoothie on the table before him. He’s quiet for a second as if he’s rolling the thought around his mind before he shakes his head. His hair falls into his eyes and he instinctively tucks the stray locks behind his ear. Lance’s heart bangs in his chest.

For some reason, this feels like a fight. He’s filled with adrenaline he has nothing to do with.

“I just think…you know, giving your heart away like that is just…a lot,” Keith says to him, eyes peeling away from Lance’s face down toward the table. His fingers brush against the edges as if he was swiping off nonexistent dust. He doesn’t look back to Lance. “How can you go into something like that without thinking of the bad things? You date someone and then give them complete power over you. They can just walk out at any time without a word, and you can do nothing to stop it, no matter how much you want to.” Keith furrows his brows. “I don’t think it’s worth the effort. I mean, theoretically. If we’re looking at all options, when you enter a relationship you either break up or spend the rest of your life with that person—and the latter is less likely these days.”

Lance huffs out a laugh. “That’s a dark take on love,” he says. “I guess it’s not entirely wrong, but there’s nothing wrong with giving your heart to someone, dude. You think about all of the bad that happens in relationships, but what about the good?”

Keith rolls his eyes. “Couples are just friends with benefits.”

“There’s a movie titled that very thing that’ll teach you the opposite,” Lance comments. Keith gives him a flat look and Lance shrugs his shoulders. “But, really. Sure, any good relationship starts off with each partner being good friends, and yes there are _benefits_ —” as Lance wiggles his eyebrows, Keith’s face erupts into color and he leans his head back and groans—“but it’s more than that. It’s like…it’s like…”

“Let me guess,” interjects Keith, the tone of his voice flat. “It’s indescribable.”

A snort forces its way out of Lance. Give it to Keith to be an ass in a conversation like this.

“I don’t think so,” Lance says back, a little fond. “When I was younger, my mom used to take one Friday off a month and spend the evening with a glass of wine and her wedding photos…and I always thought it was because she was mourning—my dad. But I ended up asking her about it a few years back and she told me that every so often they’d spend time to themselves and look back on their relationship. And they’d talk about their pasts and their futures and what they did or didn’t want, like serious conversations like that were _fun_. She would grab a glass of wine and her wedding photos…probably up until I was eleven years old. After eleven years, she still had those date nights with him.”

Keith’s brows lower on his face, scowl smoothing out. He doesn’t say anything but something in his eyes urges Lance on. Lance smiles a thin smile and looks down at his hands resting in his lap. He fiddles with his thumbs a bit and lets out a sigh.

“I never got to actually see what my mom was like with her husband—er, my dad,” Lance continues, quieter. Keith leans on to the table, closer to Lance, but Lance pays him no attention. “But I think the stories I’ve heard of them and how my mom acted the way she did after Rachel and I were born says a lot. They were… a team. You had to be if you were raising me and my siblings, but uh…yeah, they were a good team. My older brothers, Marco and Luis, and sister, Veronica, are _amazing_. I feel like I can see my dad inside them, even though I never had the chance to meet him. That’s crazy, right? Seeing the effects of someone’s love on a person…”

Lance looks up at Keith, blinking away the mist that has collected in his eyes. There’s a soft look on Keith’s face that threatens to steal his breath away—he isn’t smiling with his lips, but his eyes hold something light to them that has Lance’s chest warming like a fire has been lit inside of him.

He shakes his head, trying his hardest to will the feelings away. He’s too off topic.

“The dictionary definition for love is stupid as heck. I had it memorized growing up—it’s something like, uh… ‘a deep feeling of affection’ or whatever. I _guess_ that could be a part of it, but…I don’t know. There’s a distinct line between what you feel for your friends and family and what you feel towards your partner. It’s like building a home in someone. It’s of a two-halves-of-one-whole type of thing, so. I think when you lose someone you love, a part of you dies with them. That’s what makes the difference.”

Keith slowly nods his head, pulling away. He then says in a whisper as soft as love should be, “Guess I just don’t see the point in attending the same funeral twice.”

Lance’s throat tightens. There are no words to describe the ache that pulls in his chest; it’s as heavy as grief. How Keith can invoke such intense emotions inside of him with only a few words, Lance doesn’t know.

But he knows that Keith’s voice tightens with irrevocable fear, quivering like a leaf at the mere thought of mutual, supportive love.

And he can’t tell if it’s anger bubbling inside of him or sheer desperation, but he knows he has to change Keith’s mind. And that thought _really_ throws him in for a loop. It’s such a sudden shift that it leaves him dizzy, searching for purchase on the edges of his seat. He…he _has_ to change Keith’s mind—he wants Keith to build a home inside of him. He wants to teach Keith that the thunder of his heartbeat inside his chest isn’t something he should be afraid of.

But, _God_ —he wants to make Keith scared like that.

 _Great. Hunk_ was _right,_ he can’t help but think through the violent rush of anxiety that floods inside of him.

“Sometimes it’s worth it.” Lance’s voice comes out strained. Weak. Nervous. He hopes he isn’t being too transparent. Oh, God, what if he was obvious this entire time? Does Keith know? How _long_ has this been happening? How long has he felt this way? What the _hell_ —

Keith’s brows press together further, eyes narrowing in his direction. Lance raises his own eyebrow, trying to hide the way his hand trembles as he reaches for his smoothie. Keith watches him take a sip, bitterness never leaving his expression. Why’s he playing defense now of all times?

With a skipping heartbeat, Lance continues with a weak, “C’mon. What made you so…” He gestures at Keith as his sentence trails off. He’s aiming for nonchalance, but he can hear the eagerness in his voice. “You know.”

Keith blinks his eyes, surprised.

“You want to learn about my tragic backstory?” Keith asks with an unimpressed look plastered over his disbelief. Lance scoffs. “If this smoothie didn’t wake me up, this conversation sure did. Why do you wanna know this stuff anyway? It’s nine in the morning and I already want to go back to bed.”

 _Probably because you didn’t get any sleep when you were holding my hand all night,_ Lance thinks. The memory doesn’t help ease his erratic heart.

Lance offers him a shrug of his shoulders. “I told you my stuff,” he reminds him. “Let’s dive deep into that mullet brain of yours. We can trade stories of our biggest traumas—you first.”

Keith chokes out a laugh, loud enough to earn a dirty look from another customer who’s sitting a few tables away from them. He should start keeping score. Chuckles spill from Lance’s mouth and he covers his lips with his hands in a weak attempt to smother them.

“Yeah, not happening,” Keith says once his laughter dies down. “It’s too early to get into that. A lot of it is useless to remember, anyway.”

Lance hums. “I _guess_ growing up in the American foster care system can give you weird perceptions of what love is.”

Keith glares. “Don’t psychoanalyze me,” he warns. Lance holds ups hands up in surrender. “I know what a healthy relationship looks like. Shiro wasn’t my only guardian, you know.”

Lance pauses, limbs freezing in place. Keith gives him a weird look but Lance doesn’t comprehend it fully, too struck by the admission.

Keith had another guardian on Earth. He had someone to lean on when Shiro and the rest of his crew were imprisoned?

His mind drifts back to yesterday, standing in the cold plane of space. He remembers the notepad in his suits’ pockets. He remembers the scrawl of Shiro’s handwriting, the urgency and the regret and—

He remembers a name.

“Adam...” Lance mumbles.

His brows furrow on his face as he pokes at his brain, thinking back to his last years on Earth. Adam…did he know an Adam? Was there a chance he saw him in the teachers' lounge, bringing Shiro his forgotten lunch? Or maybe during an assembly after the news of the Kerberos mission broke out?

Keith opens his mouth and closes it. He swallows again, expression morphing into something dangerously curious. Lance’s skin feels like it’s on fire underneath his gaze.

“They weren’t explicit about their relationship at the Garrison,” Keith says, but it sounds like he’s talking to himself. He looks away from Lance, down toward the table. His gaze lingers on the glass and it takes everything Lance has inside of him to not bolt out of the café and run back to the Castle of Lions. When Keith looks back up to him, he seems like he’s ready to accuse Lance of a crime. “How’d you know?”

Lance’s breath comes out of him shakily. He wants to go back to talking to Keith about love. Or, like, another stupid thing Lance could come up with. Anything else.

The memory of the ether sends icepicks sprouting inside of him as if they could defend him from Keith’s heavy gaze. He doesn’t want to talk about Shiro, not now. Not ever. He wants to go back to bed.

He isn’t ready. He knew the conversation was coming and yet he still isn’t ready.

Lance looks down at his lap.

“Maybe…we should head back to the hospital,” Lance helplessly says. “It’s almost noon, isn’t it?”

“It’s not even ten yet,” Keith says back, eyes narrowing. “Answer me, Lance. How did you find out about Adam? Who told you?”

Lance looks up from his hands and meets Keith’s eyes. Despite his firm tone, he doesn’t look mad. What surprises Lance the most is the way he looks _guilty_ , how his eyes shimmer in the light as if he could cry at the thought of this Adam guy. Like Keith was the one who messed up, not Lance.

Lance presses his lips together and glances down at the table. He takes a deep breath, dragging a shaky hand up to brush through his dirty hair. How does he explain? How does he do this _right_ _now_?

“I don’t know how to explain it,” Lance works out after a moment of tense silence. “I wasn’t—snooping or anything, dude. It’s—it’s complicated, okay?”

“What does that even mean?” Keith presses.

Involuntarily, Lance’s jaw clenches. The one thing that bothered him most was the fact that Keith didn’t know when to quit pressuring him to talk, and okay, _fine_ , while he has a right to know how Lance found out about this secret fact, annoyance flickers inside of him like a dying lighter.

“It _means_ that I need a minute to figure out how to tell you,” Lance says, frowning. “It’s—I need to go back to the hospital, okay? Once we’re there—once the team is there—I swear I’ll tell you whatever you want to know.”

Keith stares at him, face twisted into something strange. Lance watches him consider him, and even though relief sweeps through him when Keith offers a curt nod and begins to stand up from his seat, Lance feels the well-known squeeze of his chest.

He shuts his eyes, takes a deep breath, and then follows Keith’s lead out of the café and on to the cobblestone road.

The journey back isn’t as long as he would’ve liked.

 

 

>>>

 

 

“So, are you going to explain what’s going on now?”

Lance holds back a groan as Keith types in his name and room number into a projection at the front desk. The nurse sitting in the front barely spares the two a glance as she sips something from her thermos and types something on to her holographic keyboard.

Lance rubs his eyes. He’s actually considering locking Keith out of his hospital room.

“I need a minute, Keith,” He replies after a moment, reading over his room’s label, trying to memorize the alien symbols. Keith glares at him out of the corner of his eyes as he presses SEND. Before he can say anything else, Lance adds, “Just give me a minute. I need time to think.”

The walk back to the hospital had consisted of Lance ignoring Keith, prodding his brain, trying to figure out a way to break the news to both Keith and the rest of their team.

Even though the chances that the handwritten messages Shiro left for the team in his notepad are slim, he finds that he’s holding on to a sliver of hope. Not only would that confirm he wasn’t absolutely crazy, but it’d hopefully provide a sense of closure for the rest of his friends. But, thinking about it, could things even transfer throughout realms like that? He still doesn’t know how he had gotten into the Black Lion in the first place, or where it technically was that he went. Was it inside of their mind? Or—when he was pulled from his body by the Evermore, did the Black Lion absorb him just like they did to Shiro?

He hates not knowing. Wrax or Satha or Bobert or _anyone_ who knows what the hell is happening needs to clear some things up. Lance feels like his brain is melting into mush every time he tries to think about it.

Either his doctor was waiting for him or they had nothing better to do because within moments a short rocky man is standing before Lance, clutching on to a tablet. He offers to walk Lance back to his room for his final examination and Lance thanks him, following after the fast-paced alien.

His doctor leads him back to his room, leaving Keith in the lobby. He watches Lance go with a weird look stretched across his face. Lance can’t miss the concerned tilt of his brow and the annoyed set of his jaw, so he just pretends he hasn’t noticed. The swirl of discomfort that coils inside of him has his attention more than an irritated Keith does.

It’s just that—he’s scared, okay? Reopening these wounds when they’re already on their way through recovery? That’s crazy talk. That’s—that’s not how getting over it works. That isn’t how you’re supposed to move on.

The doctor lets him settle into his room before he starts his final evaluation. He pulls at his ears, pokes his tongue with a stick and fumbles with his nose so roughly that he’s positive he’ll need to tape it back into its right place. Every so often, he pulls away from Lance and jots a few things down on to his tablet, expressionless face hardly moving an inch as he works.

Lance sits on his hospice patiently, fiddling with his thumbs as his thoughts swirl through his head.

He doesn’t even know if he has the messages. He doesn’t even know if—if what happened _really_ happened. What if it was just some weird fever dream? There’s a chance that the Evermore didn’t even work on humans! His dreams were already weird anyway, there’s a chance he just has an overactive imagination.

 _Why’d Keith react that way to Shiro’s partner then?_ the logical part of his brain asks. Lance tries not to roll his eyes at himself. It could’ve just been a lucky guess!

A low growl sends shivers down his spine. Lance swallows, throat growing dry.

“Is my Paladin armor here?” Lance asks suddenly, looking up to face his doctor so he doesn’t have to give the Black Lion’s bitterness any attention.

His doctor pauses and looks up from his tablet. He informs Lance that they took off his armor and sent it back to the castle, but his undersuit and belt remain in the drawers. After a bit more poking and prodding, checking his arms and legs, the doctor seems satisfied with what he’s seen and leaves the room with a short goodbye.

Lance breathes out a heavy sigh, but the tension doesn’t leave his body. He’s cold inside, wound up and shaky like he’s on the edge. He doesn’t know why he’s so jittery all of a sudden but it’s an unwelcome feeling. He considers crossing the room toward the counter to pour himself a glass of water but decides against it as he takes another deep breath.

 _I just have to tell them,_ Lance tells himself, _and whatever happens, will happen. This should be comforting. This—this should make things easier. Just like what mamá did after he died. It’s closure._

Lance narrows his eyes, staring down at his hands resting in his lap. His gaze follows the lines of his palm, stretching across his calloused skin. His brows twitch.

_At least…things will be easier in the long run._

A gelid brush tickles against the back of his mind, shockingly familiar and offering a sense of comfort he wasn’t aware he needed. Shoulders sagging, Lance falls back against his hospice, the tips of his hair brushing against the back wall. The Black Lion doesn’t say anything to him, but they’re there and it resembles the same comfort of Shiro’s prosthetic arm against his bruised shoulder.

A low groan falls from his lips. He’s only prolonging the inevitable, he knows that but…

It’s like Schrodinger’s cat.

The messages are there, or they aren’t. If they aren’t there, he has to force himself to tell the team everything Shiro wants them to hear. If they are there, he can tear out the pages and give them to his friends and let shock take over their body without him saying anything more than he needs to.

“I can overthink this for forever,” Lance mutters to himself, throwing his arm over his eyes. He sounds almost as miserable as he feels, and it’s kind of pathetic to hear outright, but for once, he doesn’t care. He isn’t afraid to admit it anymore; he’s lost.

There’s a gentle nudge in the back of his head, something fonder this time around. He doesn’t know what to do, and even with the constant chill brushing the back of his mind, Lance’s heart beats at a rapid pace in his chest.

He stands up and walks across the room toward the set of drawers that line the wall. His fingers glide against the smooth surface before they curl underneath a hook. He drags it open slowly, replacing the silence with a soft shuffling sound.

The drawer is empty other than an undersuit, a dark gray and rippled with bumps that resemble tiny scales, and his belt, which is twisted into a loosely raveled coil. Lance forgets to breathe as he reaches toward the right pouch, brushing against the cold zipper. He closes his eyes and unzips the pocket, fumbles a bit before he pulls out the spiral.

He opens his eyes.

The pen isn’t tucked inside of the spirals at the top like it usually is. He sees the end poking out of the pocket before him. Lance takes in a steady breath and with a trembling hand, he flips open the notebook.

 

 _Keith, I love you so much_ —

 

Lance shuts his eyes quickly, stomach boiling over with nausea. His hands grow slack and he drops the notebook back into the drawer as he throws his palm over his mouth and the other over his stomach. A deep purr rumbles in the back of his head but he can barely hear it over the sound of blood rushing through his ears.

That wasn’t his handwriting and those weren’t his words.

The notes are there.

 _It makes things easier,_ the Black Lion reminds him, soft.

 _No. No, it doesn’t,_ he can’t help but think back.

Lance takes a few steps backward until the back of his knees hit the edge of the hospice before he sinks down on to the mattress. He doesn’t open his eyes, but he does move his hands up and pushes the heel of his palms against them hard enough that he’s seeing bright, floating colors underneath his eyelids.

A deep breath, a count to seven, and then repeat.

He stays like that for a long while.

Lance doesn’t know how, but at some point, he thinks he must have fallen asleep because he hears the creak of the door open in front of him and conversation die down. His hands drop from his eyes and he blinks, adjusting his eyes to the light. The room is significantly dimmer than before, rainbow lights pale from the lack of the sun outside.

He’s exhausted, too tired to even pull on a façade for his friends that now stand in front of him. They’d end up seeing through it, anyway. The team knows him really well.

“Hey, guys,” Lance says, eyes trailing across Allura, Coran, and Pidge to Keith and Hunk. He doesn’t know what else to say.

Hunk closes his eyes and shakes his head like he’s completely done with the situation. Keith’s arms wrap around himself, closing himself off as he watches Lance with a piercing gaze. Lance peels his eyes away from them and he looks over to Pidge, who has her own complicated expression.

No one says anything.

Lance swallows around the lump that’s gradually growing in his throat.

The room shakes with thunder and a crack of lightning has everyone in the room startling from the sound. Lance’s heart skips a beat, high on alert for a moment until the sound registers. He composes himself.

It rains on Loimia.

The hissing of raindrops splattering against the roads and windows doesn’t ease up the tension in the room but if he closes his eyes, he could pretend he’s on his bed back on Earth, listening to the way the rain hits his skylight. He could pretend that this conversation isn’t something he has to have.

“So, are you going to tell us what the _fuck_ you were thinking?” Pidge snaps, taking away any sense of comfort from the pattering of the rain.

Lance looks over to her. She’s shaking all over, eyes smudged with red and shadowed by the lack of sleep. Her fists are white from how tight she’s clenching her fists, and honestly, if she were to throw a punch, it’d _hurt_ —her knuckles are as bony as the rest of her body.

“I’d like to know as well,” says Allura. Her voice is quieter than Pidge’s but there’s the same anger lying underneath it.

Coran places a hand on her shoulder, solemn look spread across the face that Lance is used to seeing as joyous. It hurts more than a punch would if he’s being honest.

“I don’t know what happened,” Lance tries, peeling his eyes away from his friends to look down at the hands that lay limp in his lap. He curls his fingers inwards but doesn’t make a fist and instead continues to twiddle with his thumbs. Being honest is a good start, right? They trust him so they—they’ll believe him.

“Lance, buddy, not that I’m blaming you, per se, but…you’re the one who put the Evermore on,” Hunk says, furrowing his heavy brows. Lance nods his head slowly.

“Yeah, I know that I did, but I wasn’t really…present?” Lance shakes his head. “It was like my body was moving on autopilot. I couldn’t think clearly—it was like I was hypnotized.”

Keith shifts his weight on to his other foot. “Does the Evermore have magical components to it, maybe?”

“You mean other than giving Loimians the ability to project into other dimensions?”

“You know what I mean.”

Lance closes his eyes, head beginning to ache.

“It…I thought it was the Black Lion telling me to put it on,” Lance says a bit louder.

Keith and Pidge look away from each other and turn their attention back to Lance, annoyance easing out of their features as they meet his eyes. Lance runs his tongue across his cheek, mouth tasting bitter. He glances over to Allura.

“You connected through with them again?” She asks, a curious tilt to her once anger-ridden voice. “And—they told you to put on the Evermore? They should’ve known that it wasn’t meant for humans…”

“Why would the Black Lion do that?” Hunk presses.

Lance opens his mouth and then closes it. His team stares at him expectantly. It’s now or never.

“I think they wanted me to find Shiro.”

Another lapse of silence falls over the room, this time with a different kind of tension. Lance avoids their eyes and stares down at the floor, lips pressed into a thin line as his words hang in the air. The air is so thick it’s hard to breathe, and as he takes a deep breath through his nose, he can’t help but wish that _someone_ would say _something_.

But no one does.

The floor is his.

“The dreams that I’ve been having…I don’t know, for some reason, it feels like”—Lance makes a face—“maybe they’ve been leading up to this moment, or something. This whole… _thing_. I slept soundly after I took off the Evermore. I don’t even remember the dream that I had–“

“But…you found Shiro?” Keith asks.

Lance turns to him, taking in his wide, hopeful eyes. Something must show on his face because the expression Keith wears twists into something confused, disappointed, and it then drops completely. His chest constricts around his lungs and Lance immediately peels his eyes away from Keith, forcing away the stinging of his eyes.

“Like I said earlier…it’s complicated,” he mumbles.

“Then—just tell us from the beginning. After you put on the Evermore, what happened?” Coran asks.

Lance clenches his jaw. Time to be as vague as possible.

“I relived a memory,” Lance says. “But it was like I was actually there. I didn’t know Voltron or—or about the Evermore, or anything other than what happened before the memory. And then once it was over, I turned around and…” Lance’s hands tighten into a fist. “The dream that I had before, during training…it was like that.”

Allura looked down. “You established a connection with the Black Lion that day,” She mumbles.

Lance nods. “I saw Shiro, too. For just a few seconds, but…he was there.”

“What are you trying to say?” Keith asks. “That Shiro is stuck in your dreams?”

“No, he—he’s dead, Keith.” Lance looks up at him with a hard gaze.

Keith blinks, shoulders dropping, but he doesn’t say anything else.

“I don’t believe this.” Pidge shakes her head. “You’re trying to tell us you’re being, what, haunted? And that made you put on the Evermore?”

“Let me finish,” Lance grumbles. “I never said that I was haunted. I put on the Evermore and went to the astral plane or, or _something_. I died or passed out or whatever and nearly floated through the ceiling. I had to watch myself get CPR, and then I was—I don’t know! The Black Lion absorbed me, I saw Shiro’s quintessence or _whatever_ , and he sent me back messages to give to you. That’s it!”

Lance stood up from where he sat and pushed himself past his team. Once he reached the open drawers, he snatched the notepad that lay open across his under armor. With shaking hands, Lance tore the pages out and handed them to each of their respective Paladins.

He hesitates once he reaches Keith, and then hands him the message Shiro addressed to both him and Adam. Keith grabs the paper, holding it so tight that it wrinkles underneath his grip.

He stares down at the words with glazed over eyes for a few long moments before he looks up to Lance. His eyebrows twitch and Lance can tell that he’s fighting off a frown by the way his lips tighten into a thin line.

“That’s how I knew,” Lance says, voice soft. Keith makes a weak sound. “I’m sorry, Keith.”

Keith exhales a trembling breath. He swallows.

“I…I don’t…” Keith clenches his jaw and looks back down at the note. His eyes skim over the words and he flips the page. Once he finds the letter addressed to Adam, a sardonic laugh punches out of him. It’s tight, bitter, and pained and it leaves Lance sick to his stomach. “This—this can’t be all he wrote. Just—telling me to be good? Telling me that he’s _sorry_ for some bullshit that I don’t care about?”

Lance glances over to his friends. Pidge is crying, face pressed into Allura’s chest as her body shakes. Allura has tears as well, but she’s holding Pidge with one arm and her other is reaching out for Hunk and Coran. He looks back to Keith and takes in the helplessness in his eyes. This is his job now.

Lance wraps his arms around Keith, pulling him flush against his chest. Keith stands frozen, body taut against Lance’s hands until he melts in his arms. He tucks his chin against his collarbone, but he doesn’t cry, he just lets himself be held. Lance closes his eyes and relishes in the warmth of how he feels.

This is real. He made it back with his team. He’s not stuck in the astral plane with Shiro, he’s not dead.

He feels more at home in Keith’s arms than he has in a long time.

Lance grips him tighter.

“He loves you so much, Keith,” he finally whispers. “You know that, right? I…We—” his throat tightens—“We all love you. It’ll be okay.”

Keith nods his head. “I know,” he says back, and for some reason, Lance believes him. “I just…he pisses me off sometimes.”

Lance laughs quietly into his shoulder and pulls back from the hug, hands still pressed against his shoulders. “I know,” he says, “but that’s what brothers do best.”

Keith gives him a sad smile. His hand brushes against Lance’s wrist. “You must be good at that,” Keith replies. There’s a thankfulness behind his words that warms his chest.

Lance chuckles softly, but before he can say anything, there’s a knock at his hospital door, cutting their moment short. Lance turns his attention toward it as it pushes open, revealing his doctor and…

Wrax.

“Their Majesty the Eminence,” the Doctor introduces. “They requested to see you, Paladin.”

Wrax stands in the doorway, dark lines underneath their vacant eyes. If they looked tired yesterday, then they look downright like a zombie today. Their face looks to be hollower and they hold themselves in an oddly heavy way. Attached to the skin on their neck is a round, metal patch that pulses with light every time they breathe.

“Paladin Lance,” Wrax says, voice still as flat as it was yesterday. “I’m glad to see that you’re awake and doing well.”

Lance offers them a small nod. “Thank you, your Majesty,” he says as he steps away from Keith. His friends shuffle beside him, wiping at their cheeks and straightening their backs. “The doctors treated me nicely. I don’t think I would’ve survived without them.”

Wrax smiles, eyes glinting with something amused. Allura shifts on her feet next to him. The Doctor looks deeply uncomfortable.

“I assume no one told you what happened, then.” Wrax takes a step into the room once Coran waves them in. Lance knits his brows together and shakes his head, and Wrax lets out a weak laugh. “Never mind that, then. I’ve come to speak with you and your team about other matters, anyway.”

“Oh,” Lance says lamely. It’s a quick subject change but he can’t exactly blame them. “Yeah, uh—okay. Did something happen?”

Wrax pauses. “I’ve come to apologize.” They fold their hands in front of their stomach, showing off the feathers that sprout from their arms. “The Evermore…putting you in danger like that…”

“It wasn’t your fault,” Lance assures. “You sent my team on a mission, your Majesty. There is always a risk for danger in scenarios like—”

“I knew that you were going to put on the Evermore from the start, Lance. I wanted you to,” Wrax interrupts, giving Lance a hard look. Lance closes his mouth and he can’t stop himself from narrowing his eyes. “But please understand that I didn’t intend for you to get hurt and for you to almost lose your life. I had—I had no idea that you would be wounded by the Evermore, truly. I must have underestimated Humans strength…”

Lance opens his mouth and then closes it as he flounders for words. Wrax wanted him to put on the Evermore? For what reason? So he could go through _that_ traumatic experience? Lance clenches his jaw.

Wrax closes two of their eyes and lets out a small sigh. After their shoulders drop, and tension eases out of their body, they open the two eyes and then a beat later, the third.

The room brightens immediately, and Lance squints as a golden glow erupts from the iris. The pupil contracts once it lands on Lance’s figure, and for a moment, he feels like prey.

“I have terrible news concerning the Galra witch Haggar and your late Black Paladin,” Wrax says, lips dipping into a tight frown. “But there is good that can come from this, Paladins, I assure you.”

“How do we know that we can trust you now?” Allura asks, glaring at them. She doesn’t seem intimidated by the glowing eye. “You nearly killed one of my Paladins. For what? A _test_?”

Wrax’s frown deepens. “Your Royal Highness, I feel immeasurable guilt for not being on the throne before the Great War. The anger I have toward my father for not warning King Alfor about the future of your people is what fuels me to do this,” They say, sounding more somber than Lance had expected. “For once, I feel as if…I know that this is the right thing to do. That this is the path for the best outcome possible. All I need is your trust and not only Loimia, but the entire Universe will be forever grateful.”

Allura clenches her jaw. Her eyes are as sharp as daggers.

“Please, Allura.” Wrax pleads in a softer voice. They sound more…real that way. Less robotic, more trustworthy.

Lance glances over to Keith and finds that he’s already looking at Lance. They share a mutual look of something uncertain before looking back to Wrax.

“I understand your hesitance, and if I were you, I most definitely would be wary of my actions. If this is the end for us—our alliance—then you and your people are free to leave Loimia, but I implore you to at least consider what I must say.”

Allura turns her head away from Wrax and looks at Lance. He meets her gaze, takes in the firm set of her jaw and the wrinkle between her brows before he realizes that she’s looking to him to decide. Lance blinks, tries to make sure his face doesn’t do something weird like showcasing his surprise, and he looks back over to Wrax. There’s a beat of silence.

“Let’s make a deal,” Lance then suggests. Keith scoffs next to him and crosses his arms. He mutters something bitter underneath his breath, but Lance ignores him in the sake of staying on task.

For some reason, he feels as if Wrax is telling the truth. It wouldn’t hurt anymore for them to hear them out—what’s the worst that could happen? If for some reason Wrax was like, _evil_ , they could totally take them. He’s pretty sure an earthquake would send Wrax to the floor by now.

“I have questions about the Evermore and what I saw,” Lance explains, crossing his arms over his chest. “If you give us your excuses or whatever it is you want to say, then I want answers.”

Wrax closes their third eye and the glow of the room fades away. The gloomy gray light comes back, and the dim rainbow reflections shift, slowly inching across the walls as the morning transposes into noon. Lance holds Wrax’s gaze, his eyes as firm as his voice had been.

“You’ll find what it is that you’re looking for, Black Paladin,” Wrax promises. They stare down at Lance, but despite the height difference, he isn’t afraid of them. In fact, he thinks the tension between the two is entirely from the hesitance of his friends—he can see in Wrax’s eyes that they hold the same lack of resentment that Lance feels for them. “And you’ll receive your answers as well.”

Lance holds out his hand. “So we have a deal?”

Wrax follows the movement of his hand with their eyes. They stare at it for a moment and tilt their head, brows furrowing low. “Uh…” They reach their hand out just as Lance had, outstretched awkwardly. “We…do.”

Lance pouts. “You’re—supposed to grab it and shake,” he says. “You guys don’t have handshakes here?”

Wrax shakes their head but grabs Lance’s hand. He shakes it for them to spare them from the embarrassment. Once his hand drops back to his side, Lance looks back at the rest of the team. The expressions vary from cautious to curious. Keith and Allura both look as if they want to argue more, but once he gives them a look, they both try to mask it better.

Coran is the one who breaks the silence.

“Perhaps we should move this conversation to somewhere more appropriate,” He suggests, arching a brow as he glances over to the team. “After we let our Paladin get cleaned up and back into his normal attire, we can hold a meeting in the Castle of Lions. It’s been ages since you’ve been, hasn’t it, your Majesty?”

Wrax peels their eyes away from Lance and looks over at Coran, a soft look on their face. They nod their head after a beat, looking to be a little eager.

“It has been many deca-pheobs since I’ve been inside of the Castle of Lions; it’d be an honor to see everything again,” Wrax says, awed. They then stop themselves, straightening their back before they glance warily at Allura. “Of course, only if the Princess grants me permission. I do not wish to overstep any boundaries, as I know I’ve upset the lot of you.”

Allura hesitates before she nods. “The meeting will be held in three vargas. You get seventy-two doboshes to explain yourself to us before we demand answers. Then we will decide what we do. Until then…” Allura looks over to Lance, frown pulling on her face. Lance raises an eyebrow and she turns away from him. “I cannot say that I trust you, Wrax. After receiving your transmission, I thought…”

Wrax expression morphs into one of incredible guilt. They look down at their feet and nod their head back.

“I’m truly sorry for betraying your trust.” Wrax looks back up and their eyes trail across each of the Paladins. “But believe me when I say that if I am allowed, I will do everything in my power to make it up to you all. I hope you can find a place in your hearts to trust me and my people—even if you decide you are not a fan of me, I beg of you to consider the rest of Loimia’s people. Everything I do, I do to make sure that I can lead my people into a better tomorrow.” They look over to Lance again. “And that starts with you, Paladin.”

Even with the strong sense of foreboding danger, Lance can’t help but feel relieved by their words. There’s something knowing that sparkles in their eyes that eases his fears.

He hopes Wrax can help him find the answers he’s been looking for.

“Three vargas,” Allura repeats cooly. “I hope that this was all worth it.”

If they can’t, then Lance doesn’t know what he’ll do.

Wrax nods their head. “I assure you that it is.”

He can only hope.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, it’s been exactly a month since I’ve updated? Be proud of me, i’m actually being somewhat consistent with my updates.
> 
> Since you all have been so kind to me, I decided that I would give you guys a whole chapter of dumbass pining. I went into this thinking that it would be a soft, easy chapter to write, but honestly? There’s a lot left unsaid here, and it’s making me vibrate with excitement. I’m so ready to get further in this story because MAN, there’ll be so many emotions. As the author of this fic, my goal is to make you guys cry. And give Lance some genuine development, but like. They go hand-in-hand, really.
> 
> If you haven’t noticed, I updated the fic’s summary. I feel like it fit the whole vibe of this better?? Oh, and, you’re gonna see that the total chapter number is going to be fluctuating a bit. I’m still trying to figure out how many chapters there will be, but right now I’m thinking less than 15 but more than 11. So, you know, if that changes in the future, it’s just me being indecisive and trying to make chapters+plotting work. I totally know what I’m doing.
> 
> Here’s another big thanks to my wonderful beta, Anna [lujanne](https://lujanne.tumblr.com)! She makes this entire fic possible and kicks my ass when needed (don’t tell her I said that though).
> 
> As always, comments and kudos are greatly appreciated. I write this for you guys and I love to see your theories or keysmashes, it makes this whole thing so much more fun.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed! Thank you so much for reading, I’ll see you next time!
> 
>  
> 
> \- Cato
> 
>  
> 
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	6. v. Dangerously Tangled

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After receiving unfortunate news, the team establishes the foundations for a plan to keep not only Loimia but themselves safe from the Galra Empire. Lance's façade begins to fracture underneath the eyes of people he cares about.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Potential Triggers in This Chapter:
> 
> \- mentions of anxiety  
> \- homesickness  
> \- going nonverbal  
>  
> 
> Song That Inspired This Chapter:
> 
> Second Time - Bruno Major

 

 

>>>

 

 

032820XX

 

Soapsuds spill off his body, dragging lines through the dirt, sweat, and grime from the day prior. He watches the white bubbles swirl down the drain, eyes burning holes into the floor as the soap runs along the edges of the hexagonal tiles of the shower. With the steam that clings to his body, heady and warm, Lance’s eyes flutter shut as he dips his head underneath the spray. Running his fingers through his curly strands of hair, they catch on one or two tangles before all his conditioner washes out.

It’s still early in the day, around noon, but the floor sways underneath his feet. His eyes are heavy and feel so incredibly comfortable shut as warm water trails down his body. He could stay underneath the shower spray for forever, he thinks. Forget Loimia, forget the Evermore and his feelings and every other inconvenient thing that’s happened to him these last few days—he just wants to sit there and not think about anything.

After the team leaves the hospital, they take a hover-car to the Castle of Lions. Lance doesn’t pay attention to much of anything the rest of his friends were discussing. The tension between them still feels heavy, and even though he stares out of the window at the passing scenery, he can tell his friends still watch him with careful eyes.

Pidge had talked to one of the doctors about getting them refills on their medication. Estrogen for her, Adderall for Lance, Zoloft for Hunk and Keith, but she also made sure to ask for a sleeping pill to help Lance on the rough nights.

(“Just in case,” Pidge said as she turned away from the doctor and over to Lance, eyes still rimmed with red from her earlier tears. “You need to get more sleep. _Real_ sleep.”)

Lance knows she has his best interests in mind, but…it still irritated him. Irrational anger? Uncool, but give him a break. Lance didn’t particularly enjoy the uncomfortable questioning from the doctors and he definitely didn’t appreciate the fact that Wrax seemed uncertain as to how the pills would affect him.

But, it’s whatever. He doesn’t have to think about any of that right now. He can save it for later, when things are bound to get more serious. For now, all he wants to do is focus on cleaning himself and doing his skincare routine. Maybe if he’s still tired after all that, he can take a nap until it’s time for Wrax to arrive at the Castle.

“Quiero tomar una siesta para siempre,” Lance sings quietly as he runs his hands through his mop of wet hair for the last time. “Y realmente quiero helado también.”

The showers are nice, but Lance knows that he can’t stay there forever, no matter how much he’d like to. His skin is already turning pruney. After rinsing off underneath the spray one more time, Lance presses the button on the wall in front of him. The water stops its flow. He moves across the stall, grabbing his fluffy blue towel from the rack.

After he dresses into a pair of black shorts and a red shirt he found that he’s only about 65% sure is his own, Lance exits the shower stall with his towel draping over his head. He strolls toward the wall of sinks and mirrors and across the series of showers to his counter space.

He quickly brushes his teeth and takes a swig of some weird, Altean mouthwash. It’s oddly spicy but it eases away the dry, bitter taste in his mouth, so he doesn’t complain. After the burning of his tongue and cheeks subsides, Lance gets to work on cleaning his face, exfoliating and then making sure to use his toner. Once he moisturizes his skin, he drops his towel down to his shoulders. Lance shakes out his hair, sending droplets of water splattering against the mirror.

Lance’s eyes meet his reflection’s own.

There are noticeably dark smudges underneath his waterline. His eyes trail from his undereye shadows toward his cheeks, hollow because of the lack of regular eating from the last few days. Lance pouts as he pokes his skin—it doesn’t have the natural glow he’s used too, either. He looks like he’s meant to be in a My Chemical Romance music video. Lame.

A small sigh slips out of him as he brings his towel up to rest back on his head. He doesn’t feel like blow-drying his hair—it takes a lot of effort, all right-- so he just gives his hair a handful of squeezes before he tosses the towel along with his dirty clothes into the laundry chute.

Lance doesn’t know what time it is, or how much longer he has until the meeting with Wrax, but his stomach is making sad sounds. From how skinny he’s looking in the mirror, he figures he should stop by the kitchen and grab something to eat. He’s only filled with artificial energy from the smoothies on his not-really date with Keith this morning, so maybe eating something would be good for him.

Strolling down the corridors, hands crossed behind his head, Lance hums an old song he heard on the radio ages ago. It doesn’t take him long to approach the kitchen’s doors; his brain is all over the place. Pausing in front of them, Lance waits for a beat for the sensors to recognize him before they slide open.

“—don’t get it!” Keith growls, tossing his hands up.

Lance’s eyes widen as he takes in the scene in front of him. The two standing at the counters haven’t noticed him enter the room, both seemingly lost in their conversation. Lance raises a curious eyebrow as he takes in the scene before him.

“Y’know, you’re doing the best that you can,” Hunk says as he furiously mixes something in a bowl. Keith groans and turns his head away from Hunk, revealing parts of his cheeks and ears as his hair shifts. Hunk doesn’t spare him a glance before he adds, “Like, I know that it’s been hard, but there isn’t much else we can do. It takes time.”

“This meeting better give us answers.” Keith shifts on his feet before he crosses his arms. The muscles on his back roll with his movement and Lance gulps. “I can’t keep this up anymore. It’s too much. I hate this, you know. I’m just so— _ugh_! I want to strangle him!”

“No, you don’t,” Hunk hums.

“No, I don’t,” Keith agrees with a soft sigh. “The sentiment still stands, though.”

Hunk chuckles, shoulders shaking along with his head. The amused expression across his face warms Lance’s chest, but there’s that sparkle in his eyes. It’s a nosiness that Lance knows too well, which tells him that Hunk has either noticed something and he’s about to start prying, _or_ Keith just told him something interesting. And, from what Lance had heard, their conversation didn’t sound too intriguing.

 _I should save him,_ he thinks as he steps into the room.

As the door closes behind him, neither Hunk nor Keith has noticed his presence, so Lance clears his throat quietly before he raises his voice and asks, “How’re my favorite primary-colored Paladins?”

Keith, honest to God, actually jumps at the sound of his voice, eyes wide as he snaps his head to Lance’s direction. Hunk almost drops his mixing bowl, gaze shooting up to meet Lance as he steadies the bowl that teeters on the edge of the counter. They stare at him, eyes round before they flick their gazes toward each other for a split second.

Lance raises a curious eyebrow before Hunk laughs, a strained sound.

Keith clears his throat. His cheeks look a little pink. “Lance,” he says, voice stilled. “You scared me.”

“Sorry about that, Mullet,” Lance says back with an apologetic smile. “I thought you guys would’ve heard me come in. The doors are pretty loud, you know.”

Keith’s stance goes from defensive to something less tense. He nods and runs his hands through his hair, brushing his bangs out of his face before they fall back into place. Lance forces himself to peel his eyes away from Keith. He looks over to Hunk, who’s already watching him with a grin stretched across his lips.

“Don’t worry about it, dude,” Hunk says as he gestures Lance over to them. “Are you hungry? You should probably get some solid food in you. I know that smoothies can only do so much after you spend nearly twenty hours asleep.”

As he says this, he sends a small glare over to Keith, who’s pointedly avoiding both Hunk and Lance’s own gaze. He kicks his boots along the tiles almost sheepishly and Lance finds himself smiling a small smile before he turns his attention back to Hunk.

“Food sounds good,” Lance says. He leans over the counter, pressing his forearms against the top as he peers at the bowl of blue… _something_ Hunk had been messing with before he scared them. It doesn’t look too appetizing, but Hunk’s a genius both out and in the kitchen, so he’s learned not to judge a book based on its cover. Raising an eyebrow, he glances up at Hunk. “What’s this?”

Hunk shrugs. “Just testing some stuff out. I think it’s pudding, but like…whipped cream?”

Lance turns to Keith. “Does it taste good?”

“You have to eat something with sustenance,” Keith says flatly. “You’re all skin and bones.”

Lance rolls his eyes. “Whatever, Mullet. I’m buff. Do you not see these guns?” He asks and then promptly flexes his arm. Despite the fact he definitely has toned muscles, his arm trembles. Lance pouts. “Well that can’t be good,” he mumbles to himself.

Keith snorts. “How about I get you some goo?”

Before Lance can answer, Keith walks around the counter and over toward the wall to their right. He grabs a bowl and grabs the spraying machine before filling the bowl with the familiar, weird-smelling goop. Keith sets the bowl on the counter and nudges it over to Lance with an expectant look across his face.

“Thanks.”

He grabs for the spork that rests alongside the edge of the bowl. He scoops a spoonful of goo into his mouth and chews, raising his eyebrows at Keith. He hasn’t looked away from Lance. His face twists into something strange and—excuse Lance, but he’s a little nervous underneath the guy’s gaze. Usually, Keith’s more… _subtle_ about staring.

Keith’s eyes move from Lance’s, down to his shoulders. Lance swallows the food in his mouth but doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t know how long it’s been—probably three seconds max—but the silence is like an eternity.

“That’s my shirt.” Keith finally speaks. His voice is quiet like he’s sharing a secret.

Lance blinks at him and then peels his eyes away from his face, chin pressing on his chest, which most definitely isn’t his most flattering angle, but whatever. His gaze falls on the soft, red fabric and the spork in his hands slips out of his grasp, clanking against the edge of the bowl. He whips his head toward the source before he lets out a small fit of laughter.

“Is it?” Lance stutters out, hands grabbing the bottom hem. He examines the shirt, but it’s only for show because now that he thinks about it, of _course,_ the red t-shirt he didn’t remember owning was Keith’s! Heat creeps up his cheeks and he drops the shirt back down, opting to focus on his food instead of the embarrassment that climbs his spine. He shovels another mouthful of food between his lips before he says through a full mouth, “Dhidn’t notiss.”

Keith arches an eyebrow. “You just thought you owned a red t-shirt?”

_Dammit, Keith. Stop seeing through my bullshit!_

Lance chews on his food, slowly, and glances over to Hunk. He’s standing across the room on the opposite side of the counter, nose deep in an Altean cookbook. He thumbs through a few pages, mumbling to himself before he jots a few words down on the tablet Wrax had gifted to him.

His shoulders are tense, though. He’s still listening to what they’re talking about.

Lance looks back to Keith. “I can go change,” he says instead of rising to the bait. “Didn’t know you were so attached to this simple t-shirt, Mullet.”

Keith chuckles, shaking his head in a way that Lance tries to not read as fond. A smile threatens to curl against his mouth anyway, and he has to bite down on his lip from stopping it. It doesn’t really help, but what can you do?

“Whatever,” Keith says back, voice unexplainably warm. “I only wore it to sleep and during training a few times. You can keep it if you like it so much.”

Lance blinks at him, eyes widening just a fraction. The familiar stutter of his heartbeat makes an appearance but this time he isn’t prepared for the affection to flush through his body, sending warmth through his chest, all the way down to his toes. Keith’s smiling at him in a way that’s terrifyingly _knowing_ and something sparks in his eyes as Lance gapes at him. He has to remind himself to say something back, but he isn’t sure _how_.

“The color sure brings out my eyes, doesn’t it?”

Keith tilts his head to the side, almost as if he’s pondering what Lance had blurted. Lance tries to swallow around the lump in his throat. It doesn’t budge.

“You look good in red,” Keith replies lowly. His brows twitch but his face otherwise remains impassive.

Lance sucks in a breath and looks away from Keith, lips pressing into a thin line. He hopes his cheeks don’t look as warm as they feel, but knowing his luck, he probably looks like he has the worst sunburn both man and alien-kind has ever seen. He fumbles with the spork in his food goo and tries to smother the butterflies inside of him.

“Thanks, Keith,” he mumbles back, a bit sheepishly. Using his free hand, Lance’s fingers brush the damp curls out of his face, leaving them sticking up at odd ends. He doesn’t really care; he just needs something to do with his hands before he explodes.

Curiously, he glances back over to Keith. He doesn’t meet his eye, too busy staring at something on Lance’s shoulder. Lance doesn’t have time to ask what he’s looking at before Keith reaches out and plucks a small fuzzy off of the shirt. Lance blinks at him.

“You had a—it was annoying me,” Keith says as he sets the piece of lint on to the counter.

Lance follows the movement before snapping his head back up to Keith. A lazy smirk tugs on his lips. “You just wanted to get your hands on this shirt one last time, huh?”

“You caught me,” Keith replies, face void of emotion. “I just wanted to feel the fabric one more time before I can never wear it again.”

“Nice Wrax impression.”

Hunk barks out a laugh across the room and Lance’s smirk morphs back into its usual crooked grin. Keith rolls his eyes, either at Hunk or Lance—probably both if he’s being honest—and pushes himself off of the counter. Lance smile shifts into a pout as Keith steps away.

“You’re going?” He asks.

“Yeah, I promised Pidge I’d listen to her music with her,” he replies, darting his eyes off to the side before wraps his arms over his chest. “I don’t think she wants to listen to it alone. Said something about being homesick, so. I told her we could listen together.”

Lance pauses. He…totally forgot about the chips Bobert made for their tablets. Knitting his brows together, Lance offers him a small nod. He gets why Pidge doesn’t want to experience listening to something from Earth alone. It’s… scary, almost. Earth feels like a memory that’s just out of reach.

“That’s...sweet of you, Mullet.”

Keith scoffs. “Anyone would do it,” he says, but he seems a little pleased. “I guess I sort of understand where she’s coming from. I haven’t even touched my tablet since the briefing—but, uh. We’ve all been kind of busy anyway.”

The memory of Keith’s hand resting in his flashes in his mind and Lance fights down the blush that threatens to overcome his face. Hunk moves behind him, dragging his tablet along the counter with him. He mumbles something to himself, hardly giving any attention to their conversation except for a few quick glances up at whoever is speaking.

“Some busier than others,” Lance jokes a beat later, turning his head to meet Hunk’s gaze. Hunk smiles at him, strained, before looking up to Keith. Lance follows his turn of attention and then adds, “Go on ahead, dude. You don’t want to keep her waiting. I don’t know how much longer we have until the meeting, so we better make the most of our free time while we have it.”

“You have a point for once,” Keith says and then chuckles when Lance sticks his tongue out at him. “See you guys later—“ Keith hesitates when he turns around to face the door before giving Hunk a pointed look—“Make sure he eats, Hunk.”

Hunk gives a mock salute. “Sure thing.”

Satisfied, Keith grants them one last smile before he leaves the kitchen.

The door hisses as it seals shut, and Lance watches the place Keith had stood before he turns back to his food goo. As he reaches for the spork, he can feel Hunk’s eyes burning holes into his skin. Instead of meeting Hunk’s gaze, he scoops up a generous bit of goo and shovels it into his mouth. He doesn’t let the bitter taste linger and only chews it enough so he won’t choke before he swallows it down.

Hunk sighs with the dramatics of a woman longing for her husband to return from the war. Lance quirks a brow at that, eyes involuntarily flicking up to Hunk. He immediately regrets it once he sees the fluttering eyelashes and a lazy smile stretched across his face. The Nosy Spark (patent pending) in his eyes shines with the brightness of a thousand suns.

“Don’t even start.”

Hunk’s smile widens. “Young love is so beautiful,” he says instead of heeding Lance’s warning. “I mean, the chemistry… it’s astounding. And the tension— _oof_.”

“There is no tension between us,” Lance says, glaring. “And—definitely no chemistry. Whatsoever. You’re crazy.”

“And you’re wearing your boyfriend’s shirt.” Hunk shrugs.

Lance’s eye twitches. He grabs his spork and takes a bite all while shooting dirty looks in Hunk’s direction. Hunk doesn’t seem to take offense to it, he leans on to the counter, propping his chin in his hands.

“It was an accident,” he assures after swallowing. “And he _isn’t_ my boyfriend.”

“Maybe so,” Hunk says. “But he said you could keep it—and that you look good in red.”

Lance rolls his eyes and ignores his own racing heart. He’s transparent as hell and he knows it, but that doesn’t mean he can’t hope Hunk doesn’t. Of course, Lance has terrible luck because the Universe absolutely despises him, so when Hunk’s prying gaze doesn’t leave him, Lance rolls his head back and groans, defeated.

“Okay, fine,” he grumbles, running a hand down his face. “What do you want me to say? That you were right? Because—that’s not happening, buddy!”

“So you _do_ like him?”

Lance presses his face into the table and groans again. After his dramatics, Lance lifts his head and sends a helpless look up to Hunk.

Hunk, of course, looks ecstatic. He didn’t even have to _say_ anything.

“I don’t even know how it happened. Or when!” Lance cries, tossing his hands up. “This morning we were just talking about love and romance while drinking some really bomb smoothies and then suddenly— _bam_! Feelings exist! The world has fallen into chaos and I’m dying!”

Hunk scoffs at him. “You aren’t dying. That’s, y’know, a _little_ dramatic,” he assures. “Isn’t this a good thing, though? I mean, you could totally ask him out. Whip out your pick-up lines and Keith’ll be like—” Hunk clears his throat—“‘ _Oh, Lance. Even though I’m a broody, emo, lone-wolf, I would pull my heart out of my chest for you and spend eternity by your side_!’”

Lance chokes on a wheeze. “ _What_ was _that_ ?” He asks through a fit on incredulous laughter, the flat of his fist pounding his chest in a pathetic attempt to clear his throat. “Is that supposed to be Keith? That sounds _nothing_ like him! Why did he turn into a vampire all of a sudden?!” He questions once he’s caught his breath.

“That’s—that’s Keith!” Hunk says. “That’s what he sounds like!”

Lance makes a sound that roughly translates to, _???._

“It is!” Hunk claims, giggles spilling out of his mouth. “You know my impressions are always spot on! Do you remember my Veronica impression?”

Lance tosses his head back and cackles. “That was terrible, too! You made her sound like she’s bored with life! Veronica isn’t like that at all!”

“Maybe not, but— _but_ she does have that attitude!” Hunk says. “The whole ‘sweet but really badass and nonchalant’ thing? That’s Veronica!”

Lance shakes his head. “No way. Veronica is like, ‘ _I make my own choices because I know what I want and how to get it_ ’, buddy.”

Hunk rolls his eyes. “Whatever, man,” he says. “It isn’t important. What is important is that you should confess to Keith!”

“Keep your voice down!” Lance says, head whipping back toward the entrance before he sends another glare Hunk’s way. “There’ll be no dramatic confessions or ripping hearts out of chests. As much as I love flirting and all that junk, it’s different this time, all right?”

Hunk’s eyes widen. “Are you in love?” He asks in a stage whisper.

Lance sputters, face erupting with heat. “What? No! No way, absolutely _not_ ,” he assures. His hands grow clammy and he wipes them off on his shorts. “It’s just a small crush. Like, honestly, it’s probably just because—because of how weird things have been lately. Keith’s been really supportive, you know? Of course, I’m gonna get all— _gooey_ because of that.”

It’s a poor shot at getting Hunk to back off, especially because it _obviously_ isn’t true. He knows this. Hunk knows this. Everyone and their mom probably knows this.

“He stayed at the hospital with you all night. The guy refused to come back to the Castle—he insisted on being there when you woke up,” Hunk comments, tapping his chin.

Lance’s breath promptly catches in his throat. “…He did?” He asks, hating the dreamy pitch his voice has taken.

“Uh, yeah, because anyone with eyes can see that you two are totally going to either bone or get married and have twenty kids. Both! Both work!”

If Lance’s face was hot before, it’s like the pits of hell now. He makes a weird sound that was supposed to be a scoff, but it ends up sounding like a squeak, which sends Hunk into hysterics. As Hunk grasps on to the counters to steady himself, Lance quickly wipes his head from any thoughts that shouldn’t be there, starting with Hunk’s comments.

They’re _way_ too dangerous to think about. Those thoughts are for— _never_ . Never! They should never have been had or spoken or _exist_ in any form. He and Keith are just friends and they’ll always be that way! What’s so hard to understand about that? He’ll die before Keith actually even considers Lance to be something more.

In an effort to ease his heart rate, Lance takes a deep breath. He scrubs at his face, and although he just washed it, he can’t help himself. The thought of marching down the aisle and having Keith waiting for him…oh, man. He needs—something. _Anything_ to make him forget seeing Keith in a sleek, black suit and smiling with that enchanting grin of his and—

“Dammit, Hunk!” Lance slams his hands on the counter. “Never speak to me again! I am—I am _mad_ at you!”

Hunk wipes invisible tears from his eyes and says, “Okay, okay, _fine_ , you won’t marry him. You’ll die alone. Is that better?”

Lance rolls his eyes. “You’re so mean to me. I’ve never done anything wrong in my entire life,” he says, pouting. “I don’t see why this is so interesting to you!”

Hunk shrugs again. “You usually always talk about your crushes and how you’re going to woo them,” Hunk replies as if it clears up anything. He must read the confusion on Lance’s expression because he continues, “I just think it’s, y’know, a little out of character that you haven’t tried whipping out the pick-up lines. You’ve been so quiet about this whole thing.”

“I’ve been a little busy if you haven’t noticed,” Lance huffs.

Hunk sighs. “I _know_. But even with all of the stress of—whatever is happening to you, you’d usually still jump at the chance to do something fun. Like Keith.”

“HA! Very funny.”  Lance darts his eyes away from Hunk and rubs his arms. “It’s just different this time around—and _not_ because you think I’m in love. He’s my friend, so. It’s automatically not happening. Even if he somehow miraculously had a teeny-tiny crush on me, too, it...” Lance finds himself frowning. “...it’d be a really bad idea to get anything out of it. If something bad happened— _hypothetically_ —and we like, broke up or whatever, Voltron would be a mess. It’d be too risky.”

Hunk leans his back against the counter, arms crossing over his chest. Lance peels his eyes away from the wall and looks back down toward his bowl of goo. He doesn’t really feel like eating anymore. He lost his appetite with the turn of the conversation.

“You guys make a good team, even if you get into petty arguments over useless stuff sometimes,” Hunk says. “Relationships work if you want them to work. You just gotta put the effort into trying. I mean, honestly, you guys are pretty close as is. You’d literally just be adding romantic aspects to what you have?”

“It’s way more complicated than that.”

“See, you keep saying that, but is it really?” Hunk presses, raising an eyebrow. “I mean, c’mon. Think about it. Why would it be so different—”

“Because it’s Keith, Hunk!” Lance snaps his head over to his friend, brows pinched low on his face.

Hunk startles at the sudden pitch of his voice before his face twists into something disappointing. Lance clenches his hands into fists on the countertops. “I thought you were past the whole ‘hating him because of Iverson’ thing?”

“That’s not it,” Lance says, running his fingers through the unruly curls on the top of his head. “He’s…he’s great, okay? He’s really, really great and it _sucks_.”

Hunk sighs.

“Don’t even—don’t. Did you know he literally held my hand all night last night?” Lance asks. “Because he did. And I’m pretty sure he brought me flowers too. He…he cares so much, it’s annoying but it’s also so _him_ that I can’t help but admire it anyway. And, God, what he told me earlier this morning—he said his love life is a fantasy because him making connections with people is so hard. He said it isn’t worth it! And—it just made me think of our fight…” Lance’s voice breaks. He takes another deep breath.

Hunk slowly nods his head, a silent urge for Lance to continue.

“I told him I didn’t want to talk about my issues with him and that I didn’t ask for him to care about me. When he told me it wasn’t my decision, I told him to fuck off,” Lance continues, voice quieter. Talking about the argument he had with Keith only makes shame bubble inside of him, an ugly feeling that only worsens his guilt. “I hate that I told him that. The look he had on his face...man, I can’t get it out of my head.”

Hunk breathes out a small sigh, eyes fluttering shut as he takes in what he’s saying. “You’re allowed to have boundaries in friendships. It’s a normal thing, dude,” Hunk assures a moment later, his brows pressing together as he opens his eyes. “But yeah, that wasn’t a cool thing of you to say. It probably was hard enough for him to come to you directly and attempt to open up a conversation. You really just rejected him there.”

Lance’s head falls into his hands. He knows that. “It’s scary,” Lance whispers. “I mean, it’s really scary. Sometimes I feel like…he’s going to realize that he is— that he can _do_ so much better, and then he’ll want nothing to do with me.”

Hunk frowns, and Lance immediately regrets saying anything. He knows that he’s a good friend, he’s known Hunk for almost five years and they’ve only gotten into like, two fights (and they only lasted a week each, thank you very much), but…still.

Lance just sort of hates himself. It’s been like that for a long time.

“It _is_ about the Garrison, isn’t it?” Hunk asks.

Lance closes his eyes, breathes out. This is Hunk he’s talking to—this is his _best_ _friend_. He’s seen Lance at his best and at his absolute worst. He’s fairly sure that Hunk knows him better than he knows himself. He can be honest, no matter how much he wants to swallow down whatever he’s feeling and run for the hills.

“I’m trying so hard to let go of everything Iverson drilled into my head,” Lance mumbles, brows twitching low on his face. His throat grows tight with each syllable he speaks. “I know that I wasn’t the best pilot or student at the Garrison, but. I was always either too much like him or not enough. I’ve always been too much or not enough, man, I—” Lance gulps and wills away the tears that sting his eyes—“I wish that I could let go of it. I’m a better pilot than Iverson will ever be, better than anyone back on Earth, and yet…”

He can feel the way his face twists into something sour. It’s the sort of anguish that he doesn’t let himself feel, but he knows he’s transparent. Hunk has a special way of cracking him open to pull out the ugly from inside of him to examine.

“It’s still drilled in there,” he continues with a bitterness that isn’t his own. “I don’t know how, or why, but it’s there and sometimes it feels like it’ll never leave. I wasn’t good enough until Keith was out of the picture, and even then, I was just his replacement. I could never fill the hole that he left.”

“So you’re just hung up on what people thought of you.” Hunk tilts his head to the side, sending Lance a questioning gaze. “Do you really care that much about other people’s perceptions?”

Lance gives Hunk a lethargic shrug. “I dunno. I don’t want to, but…I need validation, or I’ll die.”

Hunk snorts. “Yeah, okay, but that’s an ADHD thing,” he says with a slight nudge of his elbow. “Y’know, everyone has their own version of you, Lance. Iverson might have seen you as a kid who barely made the cut, but you wanna know how I see you?” Hunk asks, but before Lance can say anything, he holds up a halting hand. “You’re selfless, Lance, and you have the courage of someone who knows what it’s like to be weak. And yeah, sometimes you’re ridiculous and goofy but you’re also really quick-witted and empathetic. You’re also the next Black Paladin, apparently—which, we haven’t talked about that yet, but _holy_ _shit_ , dude.”

Lance’s face flushes, because of course it does, and he gives Hunk another useless shrug of his shoulders. He knows that’s an incoming conversation, and heck yeah, it’s pretty sick, but there’s also the massive elephant in the room that comes with the promotion. However, it doesn’t seem like something Hunk wants to linger on.

He pushes himself off of the edge of the counter and turns his body to fully face Lance. Palms pressing on to the countertops, he leans in slightly, fluorescent lights sending dark shadows casting down his face. Lance sucks in a deep breath and leans back, only slightly, hoping that his wide eyes don’t show how intimidated he is by the stern look on Hunk’s face.

“You,” Hunk leans even closer, “are perfect as you are. Whoever doesn’t see that is stupid.”

Lance swallows, nodding his head quickly as if it’ll help the strange feeling of confrontation that sparks inside of him. His palms are a little sweaty curled up into fists but he’s absolutely positive that Hunk’s borderline glare has him frozen in place.

“Okay,” he rasps. “I’m amazing, I get it, now puh- _lease_ back off. You’re being kinda hot right now and it’s confusing me and also turning me on, so—”

Hunk’s seriousness cracks and snorts, throwing his head back before the small laugh turns to full-on cackles. Lance follows in queue, his own nervous laughter bubbling out from his chest as he takes a deep breath and wills away the heat that’s crept onto his cheeks.

“I lied,” Hunk wheezes as he shakes his head, running a delicate finger underneath his waterline. “You’re terrible and I hate you. Get out of my kitchen, I don’t need your teenage hormones defiling it.”

“You literally were just telling me to _bone_ —”

The door behind Lance opens with a hiss loud enough to cut off Lance’s sentence.

He’s never been thankful for his nerves because Allura’s the one who enters the room, out of breath with sweat clinging to her cheeks. Her eyes widen, a curious look spreading across her face as she eyes him and Hunk.

“Am I interrupting a quarrel?” She asks, arching a brow that tells Lance she doesn’t actually care. Without waiting for their answer, she strolls into the kitchen, moving past Lance with only a small nod in his direction.

Lance’s eyes linger on her before they dart back to Hunk. Hunk stares at him, eyes bulging, and lips pressed together. Air fills his cheeks and Lance’s eyes widen. _Don’t say anything,_ Lance orders silently, hoping to whatever higher power is out there that Hunk listens. _Don’t say anything. Don’t you dare say a word to her—_

“Lance has a crush on Keith!”

Allura snaps her head around, eyes wide as they lock on to Lance like a predator finding its prey.

Lance presses his head into his hands. “Dammit, Hunk!”

He’s not surprised. Just disappointed.

“I’m sorry!” Hunk covers his face with his hands in order to hide the shame that takes his expression. “You can’t tell me anything and not expect me to dish to Allura! I’m terrible!”

His shoulders scrunch up to his ears, face burning with both mortification and annoyance. Hunk has a point, and deep-down Lance knows that his best friend is the epitome of nosiness, but he kind of thought it’d take longer than five minutes for Hunk to just blatantly _tell_ someone.

“You have romantic feelings for Keith?” Allura’s lips curl into a grin that means trouble.

“Listen, I know you’re heartbroken over—”

“Nonsense.” Allura waves her hand at Lance as she cuts him off. “I want to know everything.”

“Not happening!” Lance says, throwing his arms across his chest as a makeshift shield from her wrath. “It’s a new development, thank you, and I’m perfectly fine with it staying in this room. As in, do not tell anyone or else I’ll take Blue and we’ll ditch and become masked vigilantes and fight crime outside of Voltron! I swear, I’ll do it!”

Allura moves toward the counter with her own arms crossed. She still smiles, but this time it’s less devious and much more kind. Lance falters, eyes darting to the side as Hunk pries his hands away from his face and looks over at Allura with a matching look of pleasant interest. The stupid butterflies in his stomach do their natural fluttering, and even though he sort of feels like he can’t breathe, it’s… kind of nice to talk about, his crush.

Even if he knows they’re going to relentlessly tease him about it.

“Though I’m not shocked at these… _recent developments_ , it is nice to see you come right out and accept it,” Allura muses.

Lance glances back towards her, watching as she reaches out to grab the bowl Hunk was fiddling with. Hunk makes a sound of protest but Allura levels him with a look that has him raising his hands in surrender. She dips a finger into the blue substance and licks it off her finger. After a pleased hum, she pulls the bowl off of the counter and holds it close to her stomach and steals a large mixing spoon from Hunk’s decorative pot of tools.

“…you’re right,” Hunk says, pouting as he turns his attention back to Lance. “I was just telling Lance that the next step is to confess to Keith and then marry him.”

“Wonderful idea,” Allura says as she licks the spoon. “I’ll tell Coran to get the nicest Altean wedding gear out for you two. I’m sure he’d love to officiate.”

Lance squawks, effectively sending Allura and Hunk into a fit of giggles.

They’re true friends, laughing at his misery. He takes back anything nice he’s ever said about the both of them. Cheeks flushing an unhealthy shade of red, Lance huffs and turns away from them, stabbing his food goo with his spork to have something to do while they enjoy his terrible predicament.

“That does remind me, though,” Allura starts after the laughter dies out. “I wanted to make sure you’re all rested up before I asked, but since where we lie with Loimia is uncertain, I wanted to open up a slot for training tomorrow. I know that if we choose to stay planet-side after all is said and done, we’re going to be busy with patrol among other things, but that doesn’t mean we can slack off.” Allura pauses and then adds, “Also, Lance, it’d be wonderful if we could help you establish some sort of skill with your new Bayard form. Your shot accuracy is amazingly high, but now that you can fight both defense _and_ offense, it’s important to be versatile in both skills.”

Lance tries to not clench his jaw as Allura speaks. Just as he’s forgetting about the unfortunately real war he’s surrounded with, duty calls, and he’s shot back into reality. After a second that feels strangely like hours, Lance gives Allura a jerky nod, amusement slipping from his system.

Stupid sword. Allura has a point, she always does, but _still._ He’d rather get into a fist fight with an enemy than whip out a sword and stab someone to death. Then again, the thought of having to beat someone to death doesn’t sit well in his stomach. Then _again_ , if he already has someone down— _wham_! He can just whip out his pistol and—

“Lance?”

He blinks, attention successfully brought back by Allura poking his cheek. He swats her hand away and rubs the skin she prodded at before he shakes off the hypothetical situation his mind had played out in front of him. Even with a full night of sleep, he’s still a little out of it. He makes a mental note to thank Pidge for remembering to refill everyone’s medication—he definitely needs to get back on his space-addys.

“Sorry, got lost there for a second,” Lance says in-between chuckles. “But that sounds like a great plan, Princess. I’m ready to get back onto the field again.”

Allura’s face stays blank for a moment longer than he would’ve liked, but then a genuine smile stretches across her face and any worries that were starting to flicker to life inside of him smother. She nods her head, affirming their plans before she’s stepping away from him and Hunk.

“Excellent!” Allura cheers, lifting the spoon from her bowl. The blue puddling-like substance drips from the utensil and as it splatters back into the bowl, she hums and turns to leave the room. Once she’s reached the door, Allura turns back, her eyes glistening as she says, “I’ll be sure to let Keith know that you’ll be training together.”

Lance sputters when Allura winks at him. Her laughter fills the corridor with life, and he can still hear the echo of it after the kitchen doors slide shut once again.

Staring at the empty spot where she had stood, his own weak laugh slips from Lance’s mouth. He shakes their conversation off and brings his hands to his face, rubbing his eyes as if he had just woken up from a crazy dream. It sure did feel like that, what with Allura and Hunk trying to play matchmaker for the worst nonexistent couple in history.

Lance turns back to Hunk. “What’s up?” He asks after taking in his expression.

Hunk looks down to the empty counter. “That entire bowl was ten servings,” Hunk mumbles with a strong pout tugging on his bottom lip. “I wasn’t even done perfecting the recipe.”

Lance blinks, eyes drifting down to the counter that’s void of anything but the cookbook Hunk was thumbing through. There’s a brief moment of silence before laughter rips out of Lance, strained and a little disbelieving before it easily adapts into something hysterical. Hunk’s chuckles come out in puffs, more dejected until the sound of Lance’s own squeaky laugh has him cackling alongside him, too.

He doesn’t know why it’s so funny, but he doesn’t have to. He laughs anyway.

 

>>>

 

Two hours after his time in the kitchen with Hunk, the meeting with Eminence Wrax is ready to begin.

He and the rest of the team have changed out of their civvies and into their armor, either preparing for the worst or simply wanting to be Official when it comes down to the meeting (or, you know, _both_ ). They make their way to the dining hall, silent other than the clacking of their boots against the tile floor.

He thinks the lack of conversation would be disarming but he can’t find it in him to care; his thoughts are going a thousand miles a minute and they’re not going to stop any time soon. Is it bad that he’s expecting the worst? Like, maybe the Evermore cursed him and he’s going to die—for _real_ —in like, a week. That’d really suck if it happened. He hasn’t even had his first kiss yet.

Lance glances over to Keith and then immediately snaps his eyes back forward.

Nope. No. No way. He’d kiss Hunk before he kissed Keith—and yeah, then things might get weird after it, but at least he’d die instead of soaking in the awkwardness of kissing his best friend. That’d work out.

But then again…he could die after kissing Keith and get the same outcome…

“What’s with the face?” Pidge asks next to him.

Lance jolts, nearly tripping over his own feet as he looks over to her. “What face?” He asks back, cheeks turning pink despite his effort to act casual. He slows down his steps to make sure her little legs can keep up with his. “I’m not making a face. This is my normal face.”

“You look dumb.”

“ _You_ look dumb.”

“Wow,” Pidge drawls out, voice dry. “That’s rude. You’re not invited to my birthday party anymore.”

“Oh- _ho_ ! Two can play at that game, little lady,” Lance says as he places his hands on his hips. “Your fifteenth birthday party is no match for _my_ eighteenth birthday party. Tell her, Allura!”

Allura raises an eyebrow, giving Lance a look that’s mixed between amusement and slight exhaustion. He offers her a cheeky grin and Allura’s face cracks, lips tugging up into a half-smile as she shakes her head fondly.

“Your birthday is not for another four pheobs,” Allura reminds, earning a snicker from Pidge. Lance gasps as he places his hand on his chest. Allura’s smile widens. “But I suppose that does mean you could always ‘one-up’ Pidge’s party, considering it _is_ after hers…”

“You do know he’s going to start planning it right after the meeting now you’ve said that, right?” Keith says next to her, barely sparing Lance a glance as they turn the corner and walk down the main corridor of the Castle of Lions.

“At least I won’t be the only one hearing about it during training tomorrow,” Allura muses, flicking her gaze over to Lance.

Lance huffs, crossing his arms and then uncrossing them because walking that way is strangely hard to do. Keith doesn’t say anything else and even though he wants to look over at him to gauge his expression, the team comes to a stop in front of a set of double doors.

The conversation cuts off there and Lance pushes it to the back of his mind. He takes a deep breath and clenches his hands into fists, thankful that his gloves hide his strained, white knuckles.

Can he say he’s nervous? Because he’s really nervous all of a sudden. It’s not like, terrible anxiety, but there’s a heavy tension that hangs over him, sharp as the blade of a guillotine. Swallowing down his fear, Lance shakes the feeling off and glances over his shoulder back at the team. He grants them a dazzling smile.

The doors in front of him slide open.

Coran is the first person Lance sees in the strangely empty room. He’s hovering near the table, chatting to Wrax as he tosses his hangs around with theatrical flair. He doesn't seem to notice the doors opened until Lance takes the first step into the room, boots loud against the tile.

Coran turns his head, pausing mid-sentence before his mustache twitches. His eyes smile once Lance gives him a gentle wave. Wrax stands from their seat, turning their head. Their two eyes widen once they fall on Lance and the team and they quickly offer them a bow, ashen cheeks flushed with life after they lift their head.

“Princess, Paladins… Lance,” Wrax greets, voice kind. Their eyes zero in on Lance after a few quick greeting-nods. “You look much better,” they say. “How are you holding up?”

Lance offers them a smile as he finds his seat. It’s a loaded question because, really, there are a ton of responses to it—but he chooses to go the most formal route. You know, considering this is a serious meeting and not a casual lunch with friends. Still, he makes sure to radiate compassion for Wrax, hoping the rest of his friends follow along. He remembers how bitter they seemed earlier when they picked him up from the hospital and he’s still unsure if Wrax deserved that treatment.

Despite the fishy circumstances in which he had to use the Evermore, Lance sort of trusts Wrax? He hopes this meeting will only further prove their innocence, he’d hate to leave Loimia and make an enemy of their Eminence. Wrax and their abilities are pretty freaking cool if he’s being honest. He’d like to be on good terms with them if possible.

“I’m doing just peachy, your Highness.” Lance grins and glances to the head of the table where Allura sits. She meets his eyes before she turns back to Wrax, face blank. He forces the urge to sigh away as he follows Allura’s lead and looks back to Wrax. “You look like you’ve gotten some rest, too. I hope you’re feeling better.”

Wrax chuckles, a soft sound that he notes has a flutter of anxiety lingering deep inside of it. His shoulders drop, a bit of the tautness of his muscles easing out at the way they sound. This is an important meeting, he has to remind himself to stay on guard.

Although… Wrax did come alone, now that Lance looks around the dining room. They didn’t even bring _Satha_ . Either they’re a mastermind at deception or Wrax genuinely feels safe coming to Voltron and telling them the truth. Or, at least what he _thinks_ the truth is. Lance doesn’t know anything yet.

“I am fine, thank you,” they reply smoothly. Wrax then turns their attention away from Lance, eyes drifting over toward Allura. They offer her a kind smile, but there’s hesitance behind the curl of their lips. “Princess, it’s an honor to be back in the Castle of Lions. Your home, as always, is beautiful. Thank you for having me.”

Allura gulps and nods her head. Hunk watches her, a small wrinkling forming between his brows as he places a hand on her back. Allura presses her lips into a thin smile, lips wound tight. Lance finds himself frowning along with Coran, but he isn’t sure why. There’s something in her eyes which looks like such a soft sadness it’s almost hard to separate from the usual look in her eyes.

“Of course,” Allura replies, voice pitched differently than it was in the kitchen two vargas ago. It’s weird, how quickly Allura can turn on her royal façade and then just as easily shift into being a normal teenager. “As much as I’d…love to sit and chat, we’re all gathered here for a reason. Our Paladins have a rather busy schedule today and I’d hate to have it prolonged.”

That’s a fat lie.

“I understand. From what I’ve researched, humans appear to perform well under a structure.”

Okay, well. That’s true, but it’s weird to hear it said out loud. Everyone performs well with structure! That’s why it’s called structure, thank you very much. One look in Pidge’s direction confirms that she’s thinking the same exact thing as him.

“Wrax, if you don’t mind…” Lance peels his eyes away from Pidge and looks back toward Wrax. They meet his eyes with a curious tilt of their head, almost like a dog’s. His brain, very helpfully, supplies the image of a winged chihuahua and it’s absolutely terrifying. Shoving the thought away, he clears his throat and sits up straighter. Wrax turns their attention back to Allura as she continues, “It’s imperative that you explain what happened on the mission and what you saw with your clairvoyance. That way, we can piece it together as a group and Voltron can come to a conclusion.”

Wrax nods their head.

“Of course, Princess,” they say and then take a deep breath.

Lance can’t help but inch closer toward the edge of his seat, eyes trained on Wrax like they’re about to tell the story of a lifetime. Which, in a way, it sort of is—knowing their ability to see the future and stuff, he could totally get spoilers for his life. Maybe. It depends on what they’re going to tell the team, but _whatever_.

“Your former Black Paladin has been stolen by the Galra,” Wrax says, voice coming out curt. Lance gapes at them, mouth parting as if he wants to speak. “…at least his body was. I’m unsure of how they got it, but I wouldn’t be surprised if it due to the High Priestess alchemy skills. I had a vision five pheobs ago where I saw a few Galra specialists discussing something called Subject Y0XT37. They were very hush-hush about it, but said subject apparently is a test for Project Kuron.”

Wrax rests their hands on the table, eyes drooping. The smudges on their gray skin stick out much more in the harsh fluorescent lights of the Castle of Lions, especially now that Wrax isn’t wearing a mask. He wonders if they can feel how thick the tension in the room has grown since they’ve opened their mouth.

“Project Kuron?” Keith leans forward, eyes dark. Lance glances over to him with a poorly concealed frown. “What else did you hear?”

“It was hard to understand, but there was a clear picture of Takashi Shirogane strapped to a table. He was…” they gulp in a deep breath, hands trembling as they wring them together. “It was a bad sight, something I wish to no longer remember. Haggar was there and she spoke of Voltron, of breaking your team apart from the inside. It wasn’t hard for me to connect the dots once one of the specialists spoke of remaking the body. She said something about his muscles not cooperating and their team decided to—fix it.”

“What do you mean by remaking the body? Like…like a robeast?” Pidge asks, abhorrence seeping into her words.

Keith clenches his hands into fists on top of the table, eyes burning holes into the smooth metal top. He shakes his head, the movement jerky. “That’s impossible. Lance told us earlier that Shiro had died in the battle. He met with him through whatever the hell the Evermore does.” He looks up at Wrax with a snarl. “You’re lying to us.”

Wrax shakes their head. “No, no—I assure you, I’m not,” They say, their own eyes wide and somehow pleading despite their vacancy. “They don’t have his quintessence. They’re—they’re making a quintessence-less being—essentially, it’s like a body without a soul. He’ll be a shell of your former Black Paladin, and…there’ll be something inside of him that’s corrupted.”

Keith shakes his head once more, hands clenching into unsteady fists on the tabletop. “That can’t be possible. That’s too—that’s too much,” he mutters, lips curling into something sour. “Why would the Galra do something this stupid? We already know Shiro is—dead.”

Lance looks away from Keith, down to the table so he can see his misty reflection. His face contorted from the sharp lights that trail the ceiling above him, blurring from the glare of light against the metal. He swallows around the lump in his throat.

“…But we didn’t know for sure,” Lance mumbles, miserable. He can see out of his peripherals that his friends turn their heads to face him, but he ignores it and instead lifts his head to meet Wrax’s eyes, his brows heavy on his face. “That’s why you wanted me to put on the Evermore, isn’t it?”

Wrax holds his gaze only for a beat before they sigh.

Dread inches its way inside of Lance, his body growing numb underneath its infection. He doesn’t know what to say or what to even think. He wasn’t meant to put on the Evermore to bring closure to him and the rest of his team, the sleepless nights weren’t a buildup to the real thing. Wrax wanted him to wear the Evermore and see Shiro so he can—

His throat closes when he tries to breathe. He chokes on a dry chuckle. It sounds like a sob.

“Lance, the way I see things is so different from the way you do,” Wrax says softly as if their words can ease the turmoil inside of his chest. “I knew that you were the one who stepped forward to lead Voltron, that with time you would leave the Blue Lion and move on to the Black Lion. But when I got the vision of Haggar’s plans…I knew that you were the best option for keeping the Universe safe.”

“I don’t—that’s not fair.” Lance shakes his head. “That shouldn’t have been your decision to make for me.”

“You are the only one who can save him, Lance,” Wrax assures. Lance clenches his eyes shut. “If the Black Lion chose a different path, if _you_ chose a different path then maybe this could’ve been passed on to someone else, but…the Black Lion chose you. They chose you for a reason.”

“That’s not fair—not to Shiro,” Lance says, his resolve crumbling. “I don’t want some…some _shadow_ of him with our team! And—and I can assure you that the rest of us will agree.”

“You’re not understanding—”

“No, I think I am.” Lance pushes himself from his seat, palms spread flat against the tabletop. “You wanted to make it up to Allura for not only losing one of her best friends but her entire planet, so once you found out about the clone, you _lied_ to us to get us to come to your home. You made me put on the Evermore so I could bring back a bullshit excuse for closure to my team—and now, just so you get extra points to keep yourself guilt-free, you’re telling us that we can get his clone as a replacement?”

Wrax leans back in their seat, hands pressed together on their chest. Their lip quivers but Lance only sees red.

“I understand _perfectly_ , your Highness,” he hisses, voice having gone cold. “And I promise you that Voltron isn’t interested in what you have to offer. You’ve used me as a pawn in your game and I made the mistake of trusting you when my friends were right not to, so excuse me, but I think we’re done here.”

Lance turns to leave. As he takes his first step toward the door, he hears clambering and shuffling footsteps from behind him.

“I am not offering a replacement for your loss, Paladin,” Wrax says urgently, in a way that makes it sound as if they’re begging. “And I never lied to you about the concerns I have for my people.”

Lance wants to keep walking, wants to let the anger inside of him burn, but he finds himself hesitating. Even with the turn of the conversation, with the things they said to him, there’s a pitch to their voice that’s transparent. For some reason, Lance looks back.

They stand on the opposite side of the table, closer to Lance. The rest of team Voltron is standing as well, bent at the knees like they’re ready to jump into action at any given notice. Keith’s already reaching behind him, hands gripping the hilt of his blade.

“The Evermore is a spectacular thing, and by wearing it, you’ve obtained its abilities. You have unlocked parts of your brain, parts of everything that both can and never exist,” they continue, face scrunched tight. Lance’s brows furrow. “I didn’t grant you the ability to put on the Evermore. You made that decision for yourself, I simply set up the circumstances where you could. It wasn’t so you could tie ends together and move on but rather so you could get back what was stolen from you.”

Lance huffs, shaking his head. “You can’t bring people back from the dead, your Highness.”

“You severely underestimate Altean alchemy and the powers both you and I possess, then.”

 _Paladin, they have a strong point_ , the Black Lion prods the back of his mind, as gentle as a brush of wind.

Lance’s eyes flutter shut, and he takes a deep breath. He turns his entire body, facing Wrax head on. At his movement, Hunk and Pidge stand up straighter, but there’s no doubt that the rest of the team looks unsteady. He can’t exactly blame them anymore.

“Then enlighten us.” Lance sweeps his hand, gesturing at his friends. “If there’s a way we can bring him out of the Black Lion and back with us, then please, let’s lay your plan out on the table and dissect it. If I have the same powers as you then I want to know how to use them, especially if there’s a chance that we can save Shiro.”

Wrax nods their head and breathes out a sigh.

Coran directs Wrax back to their seat and Lance finds his once again, feeling a little sheepish. He forces himself to ignore it and he pushes the feeling out of his head, opting to focus on the task at hand. He’d rather not let his emotions get the better of him again—he isn’t usually one to storm off like he’d been planning.

Keith places a hand on his shoulder and Lance’s eyes flick over to him. His anger is poorly concealed, and it makes Lance wonder if he’s even trying to look polite. But, as their eyes meet, Keith gives Lance a small smile. It’s a little shy, and there’s still definitely bitterness that lingers in his gaze, but it helps ease some of the ugly feelings out of Lance.

He gives Keith a smile back, no doubt frayed at the edges. Keith accepts it regardless.

“Altean alchemy…” Allura starts after she’s settled back down into her seat. Everyone turns their heads toward her. “You truly think that there’s a way we can bring Shiro back with it?”

“It’s more complicated than that,” Wrax says. “That’s where the clone comes in. There has to be a way to disable him to a point where we can fully transfer the Black Paladin’s quintessence into the body. Since the body’s quintessence-less, the Black Paladin will be able to possess the body as if it’s his own.”

Allura frowns. “Wouldn’t Haggar just as easily be able to take the body from us once again?”

“The Galra had a direct connection to Shiro…” Hunk mumbles, eyes narrowing as he stares out into space. He shakes his head a bit, snapping back into reality. “Say we’re being hopeful, and the Empire doesn’t somehow hack into his brain to affect him and his actions. The next best option would be—”

“—to hack into his arm!” Pidge concludes, pushing her glasses up her nose. “It’s his weapon and if he suddenly enters kill mode to off all of us from the inside, the best way to do that would be through an automatic response once he’s activated his arm.”

Hunk rubs his chin. “That’s true. But if the Galra have been working on this for months, they probably have made him pretty realistic. Do you think they could copy someone’s consciousness like that?”

“Probably not unless they had his memories!” Coran pipes in.

Lance looks down at the table, tightening his lips into a thin line so he doesn’t frown.

“So, it’s safe to assume that they either had copies of his memories when he was captured by them the first time or… they harvested them from his body.” Pidge frowns at her own words, nose scrunching in disgust. “I never knew that real, carbon-copy clones could exist. The fact that it’s quintessence-less is even more fascinating, although a little confusing. I thought all living beings had to have quintessence to survive…”

“It could have artificial quintessence,” Keith says, voice hushed. “I know that Haggar collects it from the planets the Empire destroys.”

“I’m uncertain of the details,” Wrax says, lips tugging into a small frown. “But I do know that for this to happen, we’ll have to work together. I’ll have to find resources to help the Yellow and Green Paladins with the technical work—perhaps Bobert will lend you a hand. As for the Black— _Blue_ Paladin and the Princess… I can offer my own assistance.”

Lance looks up at them, his shoulders heavy with the weight of the news piling on top of him.

“So you’ll teach me how to…”

“Astral project?”

Lance nods his head. “Yeah, _that_.”

“Yes, I’ll help you learn to control these abilities and teach you the ways of the Evermore.” Wrax offers Lance a small smile. “I’m not sure how much time it will take for Project Kuron to deploy, nor do I know how long it’ll take for you to strengthen abilities granted by the Evermore, but we must make haste.”

“What about me?” Keith asks, frowning.

Wrax’s smile slips from their face. They turn their head to look at Keith, expression twitching before it completely morphs into something inexpressive. Keith glares in their direction.

“The Black Paladin’s brother…” Wrax mumbles. “I don’t have to be an empath to know that this is a challenging time for you. Worry not, you are fine as is. Your role in this will merely be supporting your friends and making sure that Project Kuron is unsuccessful in finding out about our plan.”

Keith makes an expression of reluctance. “I can _help_ , though—”

“Keith,” Lance interrupts, turning to face him. Keith meets his eyes with a frown and Lance can’t help but give him a tired smile just as Keith did to him before. “You will be helping by staying by our sides. You’re one of the best fighters I know and even though you’re impulsive as heck, you can think on your feet. If things don’t go as planned, we’re going to need someone like you to do something crazy.”

Keith stares at him for a moment before he huffs out a quiet laugh. “Glad to know I’m your guy for stuff like that.”

Lance’s smile curls into a grin and he moves his hand to press on to Keith’s shoulder. “You’re much more than that,” Lance assures, hoping that his heartbeat isn’t as loud as it feels. “But, Shiro trusts you the most. If...something is to happen and we can’t get through to him, I know for a fact that you could.”

Keith blinks at him and takes a deep breath, nodding his head. “Okay,” he says back, voice pitched low and sounding kind of tight. “Fine. That—that works for me.”

“Okay,” Lance repeats. He turns his head and faces Wrax. “I guess…it sounds like a plan if everyone else agrees?”

“I’m in,” Pidge says.

“Me too.”

“As if I’d leave you in this alone, buddy.” Hunk shakes his head as a small smile curls on his lips.

Lance looks over to Keith.

“What?” He asks, frowning.

“You’re not gonna add your own quirky thing?”

“No? Why would I do that?”

“We had a thing going on, Keith!”

“Okay, fine, whatever.” Keith rolls his eyes and crosses his arms over his chest. “You can count me in.”

Lance grins. “Awesome,” he says. “Team Voltron on three—”

“Yeah, man, I don’t think this is the time for chants.” Hunk inputs, rubbing the back of his neck.

“What the hell does ‘on three’ mean?” Keith mumbles and Pidge shrugs.

Lance groans. “You guys are all terrible, and I hate you.”

Wrax’s eyes flick across all of them, uncertain. They then ask, “So we… have come to an agreement? You will stay on Loimia?”

Allura nods her head, albeit reluctantly. “We will stay for as long as we can,” she promises. “And we will make sure that your people are safe from the Galra Empire.”

Wrax exhales out a sigh of relief. “Thank you so much, Voltron,” Wrax says gratefully. “You have no idea how relieved I am to hear this. I will do absolutely everything in my power to make sure that our plan comes to success.”

“Thank _you_ , your Highness.” Coran steps in, hands clasped behind his back. His voice takes its more serious tone, one that constantly punches Lance in the gut every time he uses it around him. “This means more to us than you know. I have total faith you’re doing the right thing here, and I assure you that Voltron is happy to have Loimia by our side during this fight, and I hope that the feeling is mutual.”

Wrax blinks up at Coran before their eyes flick back over to Allura. They hold each other’s gaze before Allura peels her eyes away to look at Coran. Wrax follows in suit, offering a smile that’s saturated with respite.

“Of course, it is,” Wrax says back, tone taking a softer pitch. “I’m eager to get started on helping Lance and Princess Allura with their studies and I’m positive that Bobert would be honored to offer his assistance for your communication device to contact the Paladin’s home planet.”

Hunk rubs the back of his neck, eyes refusing to look up from the spot on the wall he’s staring at. Lance huffs out a small laugh and leans back in his seat, letting his eyes slip shut for a brief moment as Allura and Coran finalize Loimia joining the Voltron Coalition.

He knows that he’s supposed to have questions for Wrax. He knows that the information that they gave the team is supposed to light a fire underneath them and he knows that there’s a chance that he’s going to screw up when the freaking _clone_ slots into their life on the Castle of Lions, but Lance sits there, all he feels is relieved.

...And maybe just a little bit terrified.

A tired smile grazes his lips.

Definitely terrified, but he wouldn’t be alive if he wasn’t.

 

>>>

 

It didn’t take long for the rest of the team to be dismissed after the meeting. Allura and Coran stayed behind for obvious reasons and both Pidge and Hunk moved to Pidge’s office, probably to continue fiddling with the communication device or to work on something else Lance doesn’t understand.

He considered going after Keith to hang out, but seeing him raise his arms above his head and roll his shoulders, Lance turned on his heel and made his way to the Control room with a burning face.

It had been awhile since he hung out with Blue, anyway. He missed her and she’s been rather quiet in his head lately. He knew his lion and knew that she was probably worried sick about him, so a little check up was nice for both of them. And, since he’s still a little numb to everything that’s happened in the last day or so, it was a nice time to wind down and _think._ Lance is comfortable enough with Blue to process emotions—if he sheds a few manly tears, she doesn’t judge.

He spent four varga’s sitting in her cockpit. He thought that maybe being enveloped in her warmth would offer some comfort and maybe hook something out from deep inside of him, but instead, he just...thought about home. It’s something he’s been avoiding doing since Shiro’s birthday, but with the weird influx of dreams that pull at his heartstrings, he figured it would be nice to get it all out.

It wasn’t as emotional as he thought it would be. The ache in his chest is still there—he can feel the physical distance between him and Cuba—but the thoughts of his mama smiling at him, of his sisters hugging him and brothers ruffling his hair have grown less disconsolate and more forlorn. It’s a sadness that he can’t smother, desperation that won’t go away anytime soon. He still misses them, there’s no doubt about that. He thinks that maybe missing them is all he _is_ these days, but...

It’s hard to explain, even to himself. So he stopped trying to. He put the thoughts of his family and of home on the backburner and talked to Blue about whatever came to his mind, much to her chagrin.

Eventually, Coran came and called him to dinner. He ate with the rest of the Paladins, laughed at the jokes they made and then eased back into the role he’s been trying to fill for ages. After he had his fill and after the team separated once again, Lance was still unsteady.

...Which ended up leading him to the old A.I. room where his cow takes residence.

He didn’t have any plans when he first stepped into the soft grass, but it brought a strange sense of serenity to him that brought him to the center of the room, on to the floor.

He doesn’t know how long he sits there with his eyes shut. His grasp on time starts to grow fuzzy after an hour but he chooses to ignore the weird sensation and instead he relishes in the fake breeze and the smell of outdoors that filter through the vents that line the ceiling.

Unconsciously, his mind drifts back to the meeting. To everything Wrax told him about Shiro and Project Kuron. He blew up at them without an apology and they’re still offering to help bring Shiro back from inside of the Black Lion. They still want to help them despite the fact it could bring hell to their planet.

A part of him wants to ask if it’s worth it. Another feels guilty for thinking that.

Something lingers inside of him after the meeting. All of the air he’s breathing is too thick for his lungs, leaving a strange bubbling sensation in his stomach. It’s like his body is threatening him in a weird way like, _hey, stupid, if you make one wrong move, you’re going to be hurling green goop for the next few hours._

Needless to say, it sucks.

Lance is restless.

His knee bounces, skin hitting the blades of artificial grass. Ignoring the familiar poking sensation, he keeps his eyes closed and steadies his breathing, both in attempts to calm his nausea and to also find enough peace so that he can _maybe_ pop into the nth dimension and describe the stitch to Shiro’s quintessence…ghost…spirit thingy. He’s still pretty unclear as to what the hell is going on—maybe he should have asked Wrax questions instead of saving them for tomorrow's training session.

But, _whatever_ . Lance can totally get back to where he was! He could do it during his sleep— _literally_.

At least, that’s what he thinks those weird dreams are. He never really got that clarified, either.

Pouting to himself, Lance shakes the thoughts off, jaw clenching and eyebrows scrunching. Every time he tries to zero in on a Zen place, some random thought comes and interrupts his stupid thought process, and everything falls into chaos.

It’s too late to take his Adderall, but he’s pretty sure it wouldn’t help him focus on astral projecting, anyway. He has to find some inner peace for that stuff, probably. How inconvenient.

He falls backward into the grass with a heavy groan, arms sprawling out spread eagle.

Kaltenecker moos, bored of his dramatics, probably.

He doesn’t blame her. He’s getting bored of it, too.

“This is dumb,” Lance whines to the open room. “I hate my stupid brain. I don’t wanna do thissss.”

There are a few squeaks from the small hut Kaltenecker lives in. Lance lifts his head, eyes trailing toward the piles of straw hay that line the edges of the walls. Popping up from a messy pile are the four mice that usually keep Allura company. He frowns and has to force away the cringe that threatens to creep up when they scramble to his direction.

The angry, pointy-eared one—Plachu, Lance thinks—crawls on to his stomach. His tail whips behind him, reminding Lance of one of the old stray cats that used to roam his neighborhood back at home. He wonders if Plachu’s irritated or if he’s simply happy to see him.

From the way his eyes narrow in an oddly animated way, Lance doesn’t think it’s the latter.

“What’s got you all fussy?” Lance asks, frowning.

Plachu throws his arms around his body and squeaks with an unmistakable attitude. Lance scoffs, offended at the tone of voice Plachu decided to take with him, before he sends a dirty look the mice’s way, no doubt looking menacing with his double chin and the insides of his nose showing.

“I don’t speak rat,” he grumbles back. “And Allura’s probably asleep, so if you want to bother me, you’re gonna have to wait until breakfast tomorrow.”

Plachu stomps his tiny foot on Lance’s stomach, shoulders up to his oversized ears. As he squeaks at Lance again, the other three mice climb up on to Lance’s stomach, looking to either be damage control or to see what was going on—Lance has no idea. Once again, he doesn’t speak rat.

The silver one, Chuchule, circles Plachu, and the yellow mouse, Platt, makes calming gestures with his little paws. The cutest one of the bunches, Chulatt, ruffles the fur on top of Plachu’s head. Plachu swats Chulatt away and Chulatt makes a sound that sounds suspiciously like a snicker.

Lance’s lips tilt into a crooked smile.

“Fine, whatever. You guys are cute,” he admits to no one in particular.

Plachu huffs at him but at least his tail has stopped swashing back and forth.

Strangely, he reminds him of Keith. The smile tracing his lips grows wider and he flops his head back down, another groan slipping past his lips. It’s much softer and more of a dreamy sigh-whine mix, but no one is there to call him out on it, so. It’s a groan.

It’s been a few hours since dinner ended, and knowing how the day went, Keith’s probably cozy in his bed, sleeping away his worries. He deserves some rest, considering he slept in a chair all night last night in an unfamiliar place—and the whole Project Kuron situation, too.

And yet Lance still has the unmistakable urge to go see him.

“It would be stupid to go visit him, wouldn’t it?” Lance asks himself out loud.

Kaltenecker moos. The mice squeak.

Lance sighs. “We saw each other plenty today. We had breakfast together, and then we had the meeting and then dinner…and, I’m going to have training with him tomorrow, too,” he says, frowning. “You know, if I were him, I’d be sick of me by now. He probably wants some alone time.”

Plachu squeaks, waving his paws frantically. Lance glances down at him and arches a brow.

“What? You know something about Keith?” Lance asks, grabbing on to the scruff of Plachu’s neck. He brings the mouse closer to his face so he’s looking into his beady red eyes. Plachu crosses his arms across his chest and squeaks again. “You know, we should make you guys a translator. Talking to you is useless if we don’t understand each other.”

Plachu’s eye twitches. He points over to the door that blends into the artificial night sky. Lance’s gaze follows the movement before his eyes dart back to Plachu, a more genuine frown taking his lips.

“You…want me to go?”

Plachu nods.

“To…Keith?”

Another nod.

Warmth pools in his cheeks and he darts his eyes away from the mouse. He sets him down on his lap with the rest of his friends and then he rubs the back of his neck. Plachu dusts himself off like Lance is the animal here.

“I dunno…” Lance mumbles. “I don’t want to bother him.”

Plachu facepalms.

Lance feels ridiculous. He’s talking to a _mouse_ about _Keith_ and he’s getting embarrassed by it! How weak is that? Huffing out a breath, Lance dusts the mice off of his lap, muttering, “Okay, okay, _fine_ , I’ll go,” in surrender.

The mice squeak at him again after he’s stood up. He wipes off his pants and shirt before realizing that nothing but the hay, the hut and the animals in this room are real and then chuckles softly at himself.

Looking back down to the mice, he sees they’re darting back to the hut where Kaltenecker is laying and they climb up her neck to rest on her head. Kaltenecker huffs through her nose and flutters her eyes shut. Chulatt waves at Lance before curling up next to Plachu. Plachu glares at Lance before closing his eyes, and Chuchule and Platt follow in suit.

Lance takes that as his cue to leave but he stays for a few seconds longer to coo at the sleeping animals. If only he had his tablet with him—he’d love to take a picture of all of them cuddling. Hunk and Pidge would lose their shit over it.

Sighing, Lance turns on his heels and strolls out of the room, hands stuffed into the pockets of his shorts. He smiles all the way toward the Paladin’s sleeping quarters.

Once he reaches his door, hand hovering over the lock pad, he looks to his left. And he hesitates.

Before he knows it, he’s in front of Keith’s bedroom door and the panels are sliding open because, for some reason, he’s left them unlocked. And Lance is gaping into the room, the one he’s barely ever stepped into because Keith seems to like to go to him more than he likes to go to Keith, and he doesn’t know what to say or do because this—this is a line that he hasn’t crossed.

 _Keith’s been awake for a long time,_ Lance thinks as his gaze finds him. _I should probably say goodnight and leave._

…But the door was unlocked. And, for some reason, his heart plugs into his throat.

“Uh…” Lance’s brows furrow as he takes in what’s before him.

Keith’s sitting on the floor, back pressed against the drawers, which line the bottom of his bed. His legs cross at the shins, feet darting the opposite direction as his arms curl around his knees to keep their position secure. The scene is reminiscent of the night Lance first came to Keith all those months ago. His eyes, although rimmed red and glossy, hold something eager inside of them. He looks as if he’s either in the middle of a breakdown or just finished one. His cheeks aren’t sticky, though, so at least he hasn’t actually cried.

The thought of Keith crying always makes his stomach tighten into an uncomfortable coil. He hates seeing his friends sad, but there’s something about Keith that always makes it worse. Sure, seeing Hunk cry was always heartbreaking, but Keith was always…quiet about his feelings. Lance knows he feels a lot, though—especially in times like this. Lance doesn’t know how he’d react if he were in Keith’s shoes. The fact that he has to come to terms with seeing an evil carbon-copy of his dead older brother probably requires like, _years_ of therapy to fix.

Keith turns his head over to Lance as soon as the door slides open. He blinks, taking Lance in before a look of surprise encompasses his face. The reaction takes him longer than usual, either from the fact that he needed to connect Lance’s face to the circumstances where they lie or because he’s exhausted, as told by the way his eyelids droop. Even then, after the surprise settles, a smile makes its way onto his face. It’s a small, awkward curve that could be considered a grimace by someone who doesn’t know Keith as well as he and the rest of team Voltron does, but Lance knows it’s a silent invitation.

“Is…everything okay?” Lance asks, purposefully pitching his voice into something gentle as he takes his first step into Keith’s bedroom, so he doesn’t throw him off. “Can I come in?”

Keith nods his head toward the spot on the floor on his left, another way of him saying, _come here._ He doesn’t say anything, but his eyes are open. Not wide, not exactly, but they show more than Lance knows Keith can probably articulate at the moment.

Lance sits down next to him, crossing his legs. He leans forward and rests his chin on his propped-up arm, eyes looking into Keith’s. The dark blue-purple-gray- _whatever_ of his irises seems to have lost their color, leaving them almost lifeless. It’s almost as if his eyes are wearing a mask of their own and it’s so unlike him that Lance can’t help but want to reach out to him.

To do what, he has no idea. He can’t just _hold_ Keith, no matter how much he wishes he could. Even though the lines of their friendship are blurry, there have to be boundaries somewhere. Keith likes affection, he thinks he does at least, considering the way he always melts into hugs…but how much is too much?

“Can you talk right now?” Lance asks.

Keith’s entire body screams reluctance but nods his head jerkily.

Lance hums, considering. “Really, now?” He questions, taking a more easy-going tone. “Sounds fake. Can’t say that I believe you, Mullet.”

Keith glares at him. “I _can_ ,” he grumbles, his voice small and tight.

Lance smiles and the annoyance that curls at Keith’s lips falters before it fades away, smoothing out his features as if it was never there in the first place. He takes a shallow breath and drops his arms to his sides, letting his knees drop on the floor and brush against Lance’s. He jolts a bit at the touch and Lance scoots a little further away, giving him enough room so he isn’t too crowded.

He’s glad he didn’t touch Keith earlier.

“You sound uncomfortable,” Lance comments. Keith looks like he wants to protest but Lance shakes his head at him before he can open his mouth to speak. “It’s okay, you don’t gotta talk. We both know I can say enough for both of us.”

Keith nods his head and leans back against his beds' frame, adjusting his position on the floor before he finds something comfortable. His arms lay limp over his legs, but Lance can spot the fumbling thumb that brushes over his bare knuckles in sporadic movements.

He’s not wearing his gloves. Lance pretends he doesn’t know why he notices.

As quiet settles between them, Lance notices there’s actually more noise in the room than he had realized. It isn’t the quiet whirring from the emergency lights that trail the edges of the room, or the soft hum of electricity inside of the walls. No…Lance knits his eyebrows together. There’s _music_ that filters through the atmosphere, a gentle voice of someone singing in _English_ while strumming an acoustic guitar.

He can feel the way his breath catches in his throat, icy and sharp before he catches the fact he’s reacting. Keith turns his head to him, lips pouting outwards as his eyes roam his face. Lance swallows down the air he choked on and lets his eyes flutter shut.

He doesn’t know the song, but it resonates inside of him, and suddenly it’s all he wants to hear for the rest of time. Despite having been avoiding his own tablet and the temptations to fall back into the same routine of wondering if his choices in life were the right ones to make, the familiarity burns inside of his chest, lingering just as the soft music does in his ears.

He could cry. He really could cry sitting here, listening to a song he doesn’t know.

And maybe it would be nice to. If he could let a few tears slip down his cheek and just sit in the quiet room with Keith, both feeling things neither are sure on how to express. It’d be a—a _bonding moment_ , he thinks with a slight thrum of amusement. It’d something that would bring them together regardless of the lack of words shared, because they don’t have to speak to share something; not really.

But he told Keith he was going to talk, so he opens his eyes.

Keith’s still looking at him, face contorted into an expression he thinks he’s seen from him before. The mask behind his eyes is gone, leaving them twinkling from the night-lights the Castle of Lions so graciously offers its residents. They remind him of a midnight sky, the ones he would see back on Earth when he and Hunk would sneak out to Plaht City.

The desert sky near the Galaxy Garrison was breathtaking, but it couldn’t hold a candle to Keith’s eyes.

He isn’t sure anything really could.

Lance knows that now is the time he should say something. He could bring up some random topic of conversation, explain to Keith how Kaltenecker is doing or how the mice have decided they live with her now. He can talk about the smoothies they had this morning, or how Allura came into the kitchen during lunch and stole the concoction Hunk was fixing up and ate it with a mixing spoon. He can say anything—he _should_ say anything—but his eyes drift down, parting from Keith’s eyes with only a single glance up as a goodbye to the stars inside of them before his gaze falls on to his lips.

Maybe, if they were different people in a different time, he would lean in close and press his lips against his. It would be so easy to kiss him, with the innocent part of his lips. They’re the same color as the begonia’s in his mama’s garden back in Matanzas. If they were there, at home, Lance would try.

It’d blow up in his face, but _man_ , he would try.

He chuckles a bit, voice rough as it's forced from the tightness of his throat. He turns his head, pushing it off of his palm as he settles on the floor in a similar pose to Keith. In an attempt to will away the heat that creeps inside of him, Lance leans his head back to rest against the edge of Keith’s mattress and he lets out a long sigh, much more in character for him as opposed to the silence he let stretch for far too long.

“This is the first song from Earth that I’ve heard in over a year,” Lance says to the open room, swinging his arms back to rest on top of the mattress with his usual dramatics. “The very first song. I guess I sort of get what Pidge felt because it’s— _crazy_. I mean, I turn eighteen in like, four months or so. I should be getting ready for junior prom but instead, I’m—”

Lance cuts his sentence short and shakes his head. That’s definitely not a path he wants to go down right now, and by the subtle shift Keith makes in his spot, it’s evident that he feels the same way. Lance exhales a deep breath through his nose and collects himself.

“I’ve only slow danced at weddings,” he adds a beat later, pouting. “That should be illegal. I’m a _great_ dancer and tons of ladies and gentlemen are missing out on it. Isn’t that tragic, Keith?”

Keith huffs and earns a grin from Lance.

“I bet you don’t know how to dance,” Lance continues, fingertips prodding through his own hair to tap against the back of his head. He turns to press his cheek against the side of the mattress so he’s staring at Keith’s bemused expression. “You don’t, do you? I bet you’ve never danced a day in your life.”

Keith’s turns away from Lance, staring at the wall on the opposite side of the room. Before the panic can bubble up, before the thoughts of _oh no, you offended him_ swarm inside of him, a smile twitches on Keith’s lips. It’s another one of his barely-there smiles, but in moments like this, his eyes show the real emotion, and…

They hold something fond. But they’re distant, far away like his mind has gone somewhere else. It looks like he’s playing out a memory in front of him and it’s so convincing that Lance almost turns his head to look, too.

He doesn’t, because Keith speaks up, voice gravelly and hushed but warm all the same.

“My dad…” Keith’s brows twitch as he comes to. “…we danced together sometimes. He would, uh…he’d sing these really cheesy classic rock songs. Dance with the broom while we did our chores in the evening, and he’d wait ‘til I’d start laughing before dragging me in.”

Lance nods his head. Keith doesn’t sound as if he’s forcing himself to speak, there’s something about the tilt of his voice that makes him sound like he wants to share the memory. But even then, even knowing that Keith’s dad is a topic that’s never discussed and knowing that it’s something he deliberately chose to tell Lance, he’s at a loss for words.

There’s another shift in the Universe. He thinks he’s felt it before.

It’s like wherever they are, it’s not a place that anyone can see. The door to Keith’s bedroom, despite being unlocked, seals them away from the rest of everything. Keith’s eyes bore holes into his own and Lance’s heart is still stuck in his throat and it’s scary. He’s never felt so brave and he’s saved countless lives, including his own, and yet he’s sitting here with the courage of someone who should actually be a Paladin. With the courage of someone who can make a difference, no matter how small.

He asks, “What was his name?”

Keith glances back over to him, almost looking shocked at Lance’s question. The confidence evaporates and Lance’s left with clammy palms and a tight throat. Their gazes lock together and for a moment, Lance regrets speaking. Maybe the memory is too upsetting to bring up and speak of for more than an offhand comment.

But then Keith says, “Kenjiro. Kenjiro Kogane,” and he shakes his head affectionately. “People called him Texas, ‘cause of the thick accent.”

Lance smiles. “That’s a cool name,” he replies earnestly. Once the conversation lulls, Lance can’t stop himself from pressing further. “What was he like?”

Keith blinks at him, eyes flicking between Lance’s own before he purses his lips. He decides to keep the open expression on his face for Keith in a sad attempt to not look too eager to learn about him. It’s weird, but he can’t help but feel excited that he’s starting to know these things about Keith, anyway. He wonders if anyone else knows these things or if he’s just special.

It’s wishful thinking probably, but who knows?

After a moment Keith moves his hands from his legs and reaches into the inside of his jacket. Lance watches as he fumbles around for a moment, brows low as he watches Keith glare at the wall with an increasing amount of panic before his expression once again smoothens into something neutral. Before Lance can ask what he’s digging around for, Keith’s pulling something out from his inside pocket.

It’s…a photo.

Lance gasps and leans forward, hesitantly reaching out to grab it before snatching his hand back when he notices the scorched edges. He glances up at Keith, who nudges it closer to Lance and whispers a quiet, “just be careful, it’s the only one I got.”

“I’ll be gentle, I just…” Lance breathes out as he slowly picks up the picture from a safe corner. “That’s you?”

The picture is fairly big, about the size of Lance’s two palms pressed together, and it shows an older man in his late twenties or early thirties. His face is scruffy but behind his shaggy brown hair and dark black eyes is a kindness that Lance has only seen in a handful of people. Kenjiro’s smile is wide, looking almost as if he’s mid-laughter as he hoists a much smaller Keith up on his shoulder. Keith’s clutching on to Kenjiro’s hair, eyes wide and mouth open like someone took the picture just as he had barked out a laugh.

A firefighter’s helmet is drooping off of Keith’s head and he’s using his free hand to hoist it up.

Keith couldn’t be older than five or six in the photo.

“Yeah, that’s me,” Keith mumbles, sounding a bit sheepish as he scratches the back of his head. “I don’t remember when it was taken but I do remember him tossing me around like that a lot.” Keith laughs to himself. “He was really strong, kind of dorky too, I guess. He’s one of the best men I’ve ever known, though. He did a lotta good.”

Lance’s lips twist into a watery smile and he hands the picture back to Keith.

Keith tucks it back into his pocket, peels the jacket off of himself and tosses it back onto his mattress without saying anything else. Lance wonders if Keith’s waiting for him to say something. There are a ton of questions that flutter inside of his head—some less respectful than others, he thinks as his eyes trail along the burnt edges of the picture—but for some reason, he finds himself shoving them away.

“Betcha’ he’d be pretty proud of how you’re turning out,” Lance says softly instead.

Keith looks back at him. His eyes filled to the brim with unshed tears and his lips part and he swallows before he rasps out a thick, but eager, “You think so?”

…Like what Lance thinks matters.

But he nods his head anyway, voice still quiet as he says, “Yeah, of course, Keith. I know so.”

The smile that crosses Keith’s face is blinding. With the movement of his lips, a tear slips down the slopes of his cheek and he immediately scrubs it away with his hand. Lance can’t help himself from smiling back, his own softness he’s been trying to hide (and failing at doing so miserably) coming out, just for the moment the conversation falls to a bittersweet close between them.

He thinks Keith’s scooted closer, but that once again could be his own desirous thinking.

It doesn’t stop him from wishing he could tug Keith into a tight hug and let him rest his head against his chest, nothing could. Keith’s still looking at him with those gentle eyes and that smile, and it sounds cheesy, but Lance thinks he finally understands why the definition of love is considered ‘a deep affection’ because his chest aches with warmth and desire and _longing_ and—

The song shifts to a new one, the sound of a record scratching filling the air before it mellows out.

Keith’s expression cracks.

Lance has to watch it happen in slow motion, how the smile drops from Keith’s face and muted agony seeps through. His own smile crumbles as he stares at the distant look in Keith’s eyes grow, growing concerned by each second as he watches Keith slip away.

A bass starts strumming, playing so quietly Lance can hardly hear it until the volume’s amplified.

“…Keith?” Lance asks, frowning as he searches his eyes.

Keith blinks back into consciousness and he forces out a laugh. It’s strained, but there’s real amusement behind his eyes. Lance thinks it might be ironic, but he’s too confused by the way Keith’s shaking his head as if he’s heard an old inside joke to question it further. He simply stares at Keith, hoping to find an explanation behind his gaze.

“Perfect timing,” he mutters, leaving Lance clueless to his meaning. He must catch the look stretched across Lance’s face because he nods his head back on to his bed, gesturing at the source of the music that’s playing. “The song—it’s one of the ones that I listened to with him. I didn’t know it was on the playlist—heh, I don’t even know what it’s _called_. That’s…wow.”

Lance’s eyes drag across Keith’s face, unsure of what he’s looking for. There’s a vice grip around his heart and Lance swallows down whatever’s lodged in his throat. Keith and his dad used to dance to this song. This song—an old soft rock song, of course, it is—is something that’s engraved into Keith’s life, and wow. Keith’s not even hesitating to share it with him.

 _The song’s just playing. You’re the one who walked in here,_ he can’t help but think. He pushes it aside, not even hoping, but _knowing_ that this is different. That there’s something electric in the air as Keith watches him with those eyes.

An idea pops into Lance’s head and before he knows it, he’s on his feet, hand outstretched to Keith as an offering to pull him up. Keith glances at his hand warily before flicking his eyes up, meeting Lance’s gaze with a confused pinch of his eyebrows.

Lance’s lips twitch into a shy smile. “C’mon. Don’t even think about it,” he says with the confidence of someone who’s much smoother than he could ever dream to be. “Dance with me?”

Keith’s expression shifts between bewilderment and disbelief before it settles on a tender exasperation that leaves Lance dizzy.

He grabs his hand, touches tentative as Lance’s fingertips brush against Keith’s bare palms. No gloves. Lance can’t remember if he had gloves on last night or not, but by the way Keith’s hand trembles, he thinks they might’ve been.

Lance’s smile widens once Keith’s hand is firmly grasping his own and he yanks Keith from his spot on the ground, chuckling underneath his breath when Keith yelps and stumbles forward. Using his free hand, Lance presses his palm against his bicep, steadying Keith and giving him a raised eyebrow, a silent, _you all right?_ Keith huffs out an uneasy laugh, his own way to affirm Lance’s question before he shuffles on his own two feet.

“It’s been a long time since I’ve danced,” Keith says in lieu of a warning.

Lance rolls his eyes at him, hand trailing down Keith’s arm before it slides into his hand, relishing in the way Keith actually shivers underneath his touch. Despite this, Keith holds on tight, glaring up at Lance as if to say, _if I go down, you’re coming with me_.

Lance, personally, wouldn’t have it any other way.

“Doesn’t matter, I’ll lead,” Lance assures. “I’m gonna sweep you off your feet, Mullet. You’ll be so amazed by my slow-dancing skills, you won't even know what hit you.”

Keith smirks. “Bring it on, Moody.”

Lance tugs Keith closer, shoving away the butterflies in his stomach. Now that he’s standing here, Lance recognizes that this is a bad idea. An absolutely marvelous but _terrible_ idea, as most of his ideas are. But he can’t just _back out_ now, he’s already bragged about his skills and challenged Keith. There’s no way Keith’s winning this. Internally cursing his competitive nature, Lance decides he just has to push through. It can’t be _that_ bad, right? This isn’t about him getting to hold Keith close to him—this him… doing _something._ He doesn’t really know what.

Keith will probably step on his feet and then he can complain that he broke his toe or something before cutting the dancing short. Easy-peasy.

Lance grabs Keith’s hand and sets it on his shoulder. Keith watches his hand release his own before glancing back over to Lance. He pointedly avoids his gaze and instead focuses on readying their connected arm before he places his hand on Keith’s waist.

Once he does so, Keith’s entire body shoots straight as a rod. His breath hitches in his throat and Lance’s eyes snap open, wide, and he rips his hand away from Keith’s body like he’s burned him. Guilt tugs at the pit of his stomach. Lance forgot that Keith was touch sensitive.

“Is that—?”

“No, it’s—it’s fine,” Keith assures, turning his head away. Lance takes note on the slight pinkness that dusts his cheeks. “Just surprised me, is all.”

Lance swallows and slowly presses his hand back on to Keith’s waist. He waits for Keith to warm up before he presses firmer, fingers curling against his cotton t-shirt. Keith looks back at him and raises an expectant eyebrow, and it’s like nothing awkward ever happened.

Lance takes the first step and Keith trips over his feet, his own lagging behind as he tries to catch up to Lance and the tempo of the song. He snickers when Keith glares at him and cackles when he curses, but eventually Keith follows along with his laughter, bringing a newfound light into Keith’s bedroom as they stumble around the floor together, listening to the song that he and his dad used to years and years ago.

Keith’s smile seems much brighter when the song ends. His eyes are no longer glossy, but they still shine, and that’d be impossible to not make Lance smile. In fact, he doesn’t think he’s stopped smiling since Keith tripped for the first time. He hasn’t smiled this much in ages.

The next song in Keith’s queue starts, this time it’s by an artist Lance recognizes. Keith isn’t safe from his teasing, especially because having U2 on a playlist that _Apple_ didn’t make themselves should be a crime, but he remains soft, even when Keith steps on his foot and then apologies for it, despite the fact he _definitely_ did it on purpose.

Lance doesn’t care, though. Keith’s hand is warm against his own and even though his eyes are blinking slowly like he’s fighting to keep them open, he doesn’t pull away from Lance’s grasp. He doesn’t even know what he’s doing or what he’s talking about but moving along to music with Keith makes it so easy for him to just forget about everything that’s happened this week.

He feels safe—completely safe—for the first time in a long time.

“You know what?” Keith says after nearly a dozen songs have played. His eyes peel away from the spot they had focused on against Lance’s shoulder and he gazes up at him through his lashes and choppy bangs. “Color me impressed. You’re not a bad dancer.”

Lance scoffs at him, rolling his eyes. “You didn’t believe me?” Lance asks as he arches an eyebrow, accidentally squeezing Keith’s hand just a bit. Keith squeezes back anyway. “I told ya’ I’d blow you away with my awesome skills. I’m a little offended you’re so surprised.”

“I’m not _surprised_ , I said I was _impressed,_ ” Keith says, giving him a flat look. He reaches his hand up off of his shoulder and tugs at Lance’s ear. “Do these things even work?”

Lance grunts and turns his head, pulling his ear away but effectively drawing Keith closer. Instead of his hand pressing against the bruised muscle, his arm drapes around his neck like they’re getting ready for a high school dance. Keith snickers at him and Lance huffs out his own tiny chuckles, unable to help himself.

There’s something that’s so… _soft_ about Keith, now. If he saw this Keith last year when Voltron first started, he doesn’t know what he’d think. He’d probably like him just as much as he does now, and that’s a dangerous thing to think about when he’s standing so close to him.

“They _do_ work, thanks,” Lance grumbles half-heartedly.

He’s hoping that continuing to bicker with Keith will help ease the way his heart clenches in his chest, but as he looks back over to Keith, he finds him already watching him. His heart, as expected, beats faster.

“And—you can’t even talk about skill,” Lance stutters out when Keith raises a questioning eyebrow. “You’ve stepped on my feet a bazillion times! Compared to you, anyone could be a great dancer.”

Keith glares up at him, and _ooh_ _boy_ , that is _not_ helping his predicament.

“I have half a mind to kick you out of here.”

Lance grins. “Nah,” he replies smoothly. “You’re enjoying yourself for once. You _like_ having me around.”

“You say that as if it’s surprising.”

Lance blinks, cheeks flushing hotly. He nearly does a double take, because Keith looks just as surprised as Lance feels. His pulse quickens as he notices the warmth creep into Keith’s cheeks, turning the healthy shade of pink to red, which matches his Lion’s intensity.

Keith can’t just— _say_ things like that! What’s he trying to do, kill him?!

Dangerous thoughts. He should’ve pretended that Keith broke his toes before their dancing had winded down into small, circular steps. Now there’s no chance for him to escape and he’s trapped with Keith’s stupid soft eyes and smiles.

This is fine.

“It is, a little.” Lance has to work to get the words out of him, but he immediately regrets the ones he chose when he sees Keith’s face fall.

Keith’s silent for a second before he says, “You _know_ I do,” with a voice quieter than it was before, almost like he’s whispering a secret. He avoids Lance’s eyes as his brows twitch down low. “I’m glad that you’re here, Lance... you don’t know how terrified I was yesterday.”

Lance’s heart drops. It was so easy to forget about the Evermore and their duties now that he’s standing here with Keith, but Lance didn’t even think about what it might be like for _him_. Keith had stayed with him at the hospital all night, holding on to him as if he might slip through his fingers.

“Keith…” Lance breathes.

Keith shakes his head, glaring at a spot on the wall past Lance. The sadness Lance tried to send away comes back at full force, and Keith’s lip quivers just a bit before he bites down on to it, fang digging into the pink skin. Lance watches him, eyes flicking across his expression helplessly.

He doesn’t know what to say.

“I’m no good at this…” Keith mutters, tone bitter. Lance wants to protest but he’s lost the ability to speak. “I feel like… _ugh_ ! I don’t want to mess this up and I can’t properly articulate myself, but I just…” Keith looks back up to Lance, eyes smoldering. Lance swallows thickly. “I feel so… so _lucky_ to be able to exist at the same time and space as you. Becoming friends with you was like being _exhumed,_ Lance. I haven’t—I’ve never had something like this in my life.”

Lance gives Keith a small smile.

“So.” Keith scrunches his brows. “Of course I like being around you, dumbass. And I know you like being around me too, ‘cause we’re friends. Whether you like it or not.”

Lance’s smile stretches wider and warmth engulfs his chest as he tugs his hand away from Keith’s and wraps it around his waist where his other one is. Keith gasps as he’s tugged into Lance’s tenacious embrace, his arm hanging in the air for a split second before he throws it around Lance’s neck with just as much fervency as Lance.

It nearly knocks the breath out of him, but it’s good. It’s so good, having Keith close like this. He’s only been friends with Keith for a few months, but with each brush of skin, every shared secret, it feels less like learning about him and more like remembering someone he’s forgotten.

It might be his heart talking, but if time were to somehow miraculously stop and stand still, just for a handful of lifetimes past countable, he doesn’t think he’d try to hit the un-pause button.

His thoughts confirm when Keith hugs him tighter. Lance tucks his nose against Keith’s shoulder and takes in a deep breath, senses filling with the familiar scent that’s redolent of pine forests and smoke. It’s kind of beautiful how he’s found his salvation here in the arms of someone he would have used to do anything to eradicate from his memories. He’s happy where he is.

If only he could tell him that.

“I do like it,” Lance finally replies, his own breath hitting the skin on Keith’s neck. He’s warm all over. “I like being friends with you, Keith, even if you have a bad haircut and stomp on my feet.”

Keith laughs into the air and—honestly? It sounds like giggles, and if the sound hadn’t murdered Lance before, he’s now straight-up slaughtered by the raspy sounds that filter through the air. Who’s allowing Keith to be sweet? Lance’s heart can’t manage this, the warmth in his chest feels molten hot and it burns in the best way possible, but he’s still not used to it. He’s not used to Keith having this effect on him and it’s—it’s _crazy_ , isn’t it? To feel this way about his friend?

“All right, whatever you say,” Keith mumbles as he pulls from the hug, eyes twinkling with amusement as his arms drop to his side.

Lance scoffs at him, crossing his arms over his chest as he raises a firm eyebrow at Keith. Keith ignores this and brings his hands up to scrub at his face, soft chuckles slipping through his fingers as he drags his gaze up to meet Lance’s. The smile on his face is a little crooked but it still flusters Lance all the same. Thankfully, he’s an expert at keeping his cool and only gapes at him for a few seconds before he smiles back.

But then Keith yawns and it causes a chain reaction. Sleep tugs at Lance as he covers his mouth to conceal it from Keith. He still snickers at him, but then Keith yawns again and they’re both laughing.

As much as he wishes to prolong the moment with Keith, to baste in the cozy atmosphere of Keith’s room with his soft rock music playing, the lines underneath Keith’s eyes are dark. He’s looked exhausted since Lance saw him when he woke up this morning, and he knows he should let him sleep.

So he doesn’t really get why he immediately flops face first into Keith’s mattress.

It’s a daring move for someone like him (see: someone with a big, fat crush) but once his face is pressed into the sheets, he takes a deep breath and a groan erupts from him, prolonged and annoying as he does best, and knows that he’s pretty freaking brave for what he says next.

“Lehz haf a sleetofer,” he says into the pillows. He only hides his face for a few moments before he turns his head to the side to catch a better breath. Keith’s standing in the same place he was when Lance threw himself in his bed, expression mixed between bemusement and something stunned. Lance can’t help but raise an eyebrow at his puzzlement.

“What?” Lance asks, pouting. “Sick of me already, Mullet?”

That seems to snap him back into reality. He rolls his eyes at Lance, lips quirking upwards as he crosses his arms and dips his hip out to the side. Tilting his head, Keith looks at Lance with something expectant on his face and it’s Lance’s turn with the mask of confusion.

Keith huffs, “Don’t you have to do your skin stuff?” He asks lamely. “And change into your pajamas? You used to always make fun of me for sleeping in my clothes.”

Lance scoffs at him, rolling on to his back and letting his arms sprawl across the mattress. While that _may_ be true, Keith doesn’t have to bring it up! The whole point of asking Keith if he could sleep over is so he could curl on his bed near the wall and linger as close to him as possible.

“I already did my skin stuff,” Lance lies, the sentence ending with a loud yawn. “And I can just steal a pair of your sweatpants, dude. The whole point of me flopping into your bed was so I wouldn’t have to _leave_ .” Keith’s eyes widen, just a fraction, but it’s enough for Lance to realize what he’s said, so he buries his nose into the crook of his arm in a way he hopes isn’t suspicious and barrels on with, “I mean, I don’t know about you, but all of this dancing and emotional bonding has me _beat._ I think I could totally pass out right now. Like, if you turn off the lights— _whoosh._ I’m out!”

He doesn’t uncover his eyes, especially as his words hang in the air without a response. He’s almost worried that Keith’s left the room, or suddenly died or _something_ —but then he’s hit in the face with something soft.

Lance sputters and grabs at the fabric that hit him. His arm drops from his face as he inspects the black bunch in his hands.

They’re…sweatpants.

Lance looks up at Keith. His cheeks look pink in the light and Lance tries to swallow but his mouth is too dry. He peels his gaze away from Keith and moves his attention back down toward the joggers. The smile that engulfs his face is from the simple act of kindness, but there’s something about the way that Keith averts his gaze that sends something rushing through Lance’s system, too.

“Hurry up and change.” Keith’s voice cracks through the silence, sounding annoyed despite the fact his expression says he’s anything but. “You kept me up like, an hour later than planned. I’m exhausted.”

Lance bites down on his smile. He probably looks like a weirdo, smiling at a pair of sweatpants, but if that makes him a freak then he’ll wear that title proudly. Not only is he still wearing Keith’s shirt, but he’s about to wear his pants too, and then he’s going to sleep in his _bed._

He, again, tries to swallow. Once. Twice.

 _Fuuuccckkk_.

He’s really good at Not thinking about things, isn’t he? Like—in what universe is this a good idea? Because it certainly isn’t a good idea for this one! In fact, it’s absolutely terrible. Absurd. _Insane._ Having a sleepover with the guy he kind of, sort of, _really_ likes? While he has crazy dreams that give him anxiety attacks when he wakes up? What the heck was he thinking?!

Oh, right. HE WASN’T!

“Lance?” Keith’s voice breaks him out of his head.

The puzzled tilt to the sound leaves Lance breathless and he snaps his head up to look at Keith, eyes widening once his gaze lands on his face. His brows scrunch low above his eyes and he’s doing his usual confused pout and it’s adorable and deadly, easily sending his heart smashing against his ribcage. Despite the frankly annoyingly cute look on his face, the exhaustion that seeps through him is obvious now that he’s really looking at him again.

He’s wasting his time. Keith’s tired. Lance should just—let him sleep.

“Gosh.” The laugh that tumbles from Lance’s lips is noticeably strained and he has to fight back a cringe at the sound of it. He clears his throat and continues, voice weak, with, “You know, I just realized that I…uh, that…you’ve been hanging out with me all day. And, uh, you know, after the meeting and everything, you’re probably kind of…you know.”

“I can’t say that I do,” Keith replies, tone as lifeless as the expression on his face.

“Nice Wrax impression,” Lance jokes, again, but it falls flat. He scratches the back of his neck, peeling his eyes away from Keith to look literally _anywhere_ else. “Uh. Anyway. If I’m…intruding or whatever on your space, I can just leave. I was joking about being too exhausted to get up. It’s no big deal, really.”

Keith’s brows lower. He then surprises Lance by blowing out an amused huff through his nose. Lance reluctantly turns his head back to him, lips pressed into a thin line as he eyes Keith’s expression. It’s harder to read than usual but he can’t find it in himself to think too deeply about it. He wasn’t joking about being tired.

“Trust me,” Keith says, voice gruff as he kneels down to the floor, grabbing a pair of sweatpants for himself. “I know I could easily kick you out of here if I felt the need to.”

Lance blinks. He hopes he isn’t obviously gaping at Keith because like—what the heck?

“So, you…don’t mind?” Lance asks slowly.

Keith rolls his eyes. “No, Lance. I don’t mind. If I didn’t want you here, I would ask you to _leave_.”

“Oh.” Lance nods his head. His heart is beating at a dangerous pace. “All right. Okay. Coolio. So, I’m just gonna get…changed.”

Keith snorts at him. “Take your time.”

Lance slips out of bed and quickly changes, eyes pointedly focused on the wall opposite of Keith as he tugs on the sweatpants. They’re a little baggy on him around the hips and thigh area and they feel worn, but they’re clean and soft against his skin, so he isn’t complaining—not that he planned on doing so in the first place.

As Keith’s adjusting the shirt he’s wearing, Lance dive bombs on to the bed face first and immediately regrets it when his back pops. He can see Keith cringe out of the corner of his eye and, _yeah_ , that’s fair; it was not a nice sound. Ignoring that and choosing to keep his pride, Lance steals Keith’s pillows and curls up in the duvet, grinning like a madman when Keith makes a sound of protest. Jokes on him—you snooze, you lose.

Once Keith settles into his bed, and after they fight over the covers and pillows, both of them have one leg slipping out of the blanket and two pillows each (which, Lance isn’t sure how Keith got so many pillows, but he definitely isn’t complaining—he just makes a mental note to ask Allura or Coran if they knew where the spare ones were). The jackhammering of his heart in his chest is a constant reminder for him to not get too comfortable, even as the lights dim at Keith’s command.

It’s…really awkward. They’re both laying too stiffly next to each other and he’s fairly sure Keith’s holding his breath or maybe like, _dead_ because he’s as still as a rock. He turns his head to his left, eyes falling on Keith’s face. His eyes are closed, and his body is motionless. Is he...sleeping? His expression is oddly blank—not lax or anything, just sort of…frozen.

Lance’s eyes widen a fraction. He lifts his hand and presses his fingers against the top of Keith’s neck, edging near his jawline.

Keith peeks an eye open. “…did you just check my pulse?”

Lance bristles. “Yeah! Maybe!” He snaps his hand away from Keith, cradling it close to his chest. “You were as still as a corpse!”

Keith laughs at him, the sound soft and sweet even though the glint in his eyes makes it evident he’s making fun of Lance. “Maybe,” he starts, eyes fluttering shut once again, “I was trying to fall asleep. Ever think of that?”

Lance huffs. “There’s no way you were falling asleep like that.”

Keith shakes his head just a bit, a sleepy smile tugging at his lips. “If you stay completely still for fifteen minutes, you’ll fall asleep.”

“…that can’t be true.”

Keith yawns. “How do you think I manage a normal sleep schedule?” He asks as his hand drops away from his mouth and back down to his side. “It works. You wouldn’t know because you probably get restless and toss and turn all night.”

Rolling his eyes, Lance says, “Yeah, well, whatever. At least I don’t need 8 hours of sleep to function.”

Keith flops his hand in Lance’s direction, a lethargic attempt at hitting him. Lance snickers and tosses his hand back with the same lack of force. Keith breathes out tiny puffs of chuckles through his lips as their hands slap together and Lance can’t stop himself from smiling.

It takes a little while longer for sleep to find Keith, but this time Lance doesn’t stop it. He watches his body grow lax before he melts into the mattress, face softening. His thick set of eyelashes fan his cheekbones and his lips curve upward, happiness still lingering even in his dreams.

Lance’s eyes drag across his skin. The low turquoise emergency lights brush against the pale contours of Keith’s face, soaking into his skin and leaving him glowing in the dark like a personal nightlight.

Lance’s heart throbs with a lethal fondness, chest burning and burning and burning until he can’t breathe through the smoke any longer.

Only light can get that close to Keith, and not for the first time in his life, Lance wishes he was something else.

It takes him a long time to fall asleep after that.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...so I can explain.
> 
> Listen. When I was writing this chapter, I didn’t expect Lance and Hunk to have this conversation now of all times, but I can’t say that I regret it. I also didn’t plan on having the whole slow-dancing scene be like...that, either. But, I’ve been planning both scenes since this time last year so like...who cares. I gave you guys a mess of a chapter but also like… 20k more words to this fic? Woohoo??
> 
> Anyway. I hope you guys are doing well. I know that after posting this chapter, I’m going to work on my Single Parent! Keith / Klance fic, and then maybe even my post-break-up/getting back together klance oneshot? So stay tuned for those. I have no idea when they’ll be coming out but hopefully they will at some point.
> 
> Big thanks to my wonderful beta, Anna [@lujanne](https://lujanne.tumblr.com)! She’s constantly kicking my ass and telling me to hurry up and write. Without her, I probably would’ve given up on this fic… three chapters ago. Go give her some love.
> 
> As always, comments and kudos are appreciated. I love reading what you guys think of the story/chapter, it makes writing this monster of a fic so much more fun to work on. Even keysmashes have me grinning like an idiot.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed! Thank you so much for reading, I’ll see you next time!
> 
>  
> 
> \- Cato
> 
>  
> 
> [tumblr](https://ghozting.tumblr.com) | [twitter](https://twitter.com/ghoztings) | [instagram](https://instagram.com/ghozting.art)
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> [here's the inspiration for the picture of Kenjiro and Keith :-(](https://prospails.tumblr.com/post/178743208143/keithtober-day-3-childhood-memories-this-was)
> 
>  
> 
> [CHECK OUT THE PLAYLIST WRAX MADE FOR KEITH!](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/0Ok1lXq36UuCVhNgQaa8GL)


	7. vi. Bolt from the Blue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Despite the numerous obstacles Lance is plummeting through, he, Allura and Eminence Wrax work to complete the first step of Team Voltron's plan. Following, a beacon of hope intercepts everyone's attention.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Potential Triggers in This Chapter:
> 
> \- graphic descriptions of anxiety / anxiety attacks  
> \- brief mentions of claustrophobia  
> \- implied nsfw jokes / unintentionally suggestive comments

 

  
>>>

 

 

032920XX

 

After opening his eyes, the only thing remaining from his rest is the feeling of loss.

What was it he had dreamed about? The memory slips through his fingers like sand, and even though he knows trying to clutch the remnants will only push the dream further away, he does it anyway. For some reason, he feels like he _has_ to know. He has to remember. Frustration prickles inside of him as he rubs sleep away from his eyes. Why does he feel like he’s forgetting something vital?

He had—he had found something. Something important. So, where did it go?

Lance doesn’t even know _what_ he left behind. That isn’t stopping the desperate curiosity flaring up inside of him, though. It’s more annoying than anything, now. He thinks he remembers… a melancholy feeling? The color blue? Or maybe a dark purple—he isn’t so sure. But other than that, he’s grasping at straws.

A sigh falls from his lips and he curses underneath his breath. Next to him, Keith stirs in his sleep.

“Wuh happen?” Keith mumbles, eyes not even close to opening halfway. He struggles to sit up, a pout pulling at his lips as he rubs the side of his cheek, which had been pressed flat against the mattress seconds before. “Did’ja have a bad dream?”

Lance shakes his head, blinking slowly. “Dunno,” he says back, his own voice low and rough from the hours of disuse. “Don’t think so. Go back t’sleep.”

Keith makes a sound Lance thinks might be a protest, but he succumbs easily and flops back down on to the pillows and melts against the cushion. A small smile pulls on Lance’s lips and he shuffles in place. Keith makes another noise. Lance freezes.

“You’re leaving?”

He hesitates and a frown replaces his smile. Why does Keith sound so dejected? Lance has been hogging the blankets _all_ night; he’s pretty sure Keith is shivering against the sheets. He’d definitely sleep much better if he were alone.

But Keith peeks his eyes open and meets Lance’s own. There’s something there he’s never seen from him before—an emotion as intense as desperation. An emotion so full in the darkness of his eyes, it leaves Lance looking for something that’s been hooked out from deep inside of his core.

How could _anyone_ look him in the eyes and say, ‘ _yeah, I want to go’_?

Lance settles back into the mattress, a little bit closer to Keith than he was before. Keith curls in toward him, grabbing for the blanket to tug close to himself. His fingers brush against Lance’s arm as he grips the duvet.

“Nah,” Lance whispers. Keith’s brows twitch before furrowing and Lance flashes a small smile that’s too fond to be safe. “I’m right here.”

Keith’s eyes flicker between Lance’s own. His fingers, still curled around the hem of the blanket, loosen as the atmosphere shifts around them like clouds parting for the sun to shine through. Lance can’t help the way his throat closes—the intense stare coming from Keith’s half-awake state leaves anticipation filling the shell of his body to the brim.

He doesn’t feel like a deer in the headlights, but he _knows_ something is coming for him. Something really scary. 

And Keith’s _eyes_ …

A part of Lance wants to haul ass out of there, but it’s a part of him he knows he wouldn’t ever indulge. No, this closeness was what he wanted in the first place, even if it’s edging on three in the morning and his breath is stale from sleep.

Keith’s looking at him as if he’s the one who’s figuring out something earth-shattering.

“…’kay,” Keith mumbles back. His voice is barely audible, even in the silence of the room, but Lance somehow hears him anyway.

There’s a lot left unsaid in that one syllable. It’s enough to render Lance helpless. Knowing he should roll over to his side, back facing Keith, his tongue instead darts between his lips to soothe the dryness as either a nervous habit or a silent suggestion he isn’t really even intending to make. His heart is going supersonic—so fast it might not even be beating anymore.

He wants Keith to look away. He never wants Keith to stop.

“Are you dreaming right now?”

Everything comes to a halt. The mood drops. The warmth in his chest dissipates. His heartbeat stutters to a stop.

Lance’s eyes widen. “ _What_?” He rasps out into the quiet.

Keith blinks at him, slowly. “I mean, it’s possible, right?”

“I don’t—” Lance’s voice cuts out. His brows twitch. “I’ve never—”

Keith tilts his head to the side, or at least as much as he can when he’s melting against his set of pillows. Lance watches him move, curling backward and furthering the distance between them. 

They had touched moments before, but Lance can’t remember how the tiniest brush of Keith’s skin felt against his. Was his brain too muzzy with his gooey feelings to even register the prickling cold?

“How do you tell?” Keith asks, not seeing his panic. “If you’re dreaming, I mean.”

Lance opens his mouth and then closes it. Keith’s eyes look heavy but he’s watching him with a curious look addled with sleep. It’s a genuine question, he thinks, but Lance doesn’t really know how to go about answering it without—

Well, without taking the chance of receiving a sucky answer.

“Things are—cold,” he says, eyes dragging across Keith’s face as if he could find the answers in the imperfections there. He then makes a weird face, the words he said hanging funny in the air. “Not really cold. It’s like…when your leg falls asleep and starts buzzing. Or, uh…how the bubbles sound after you open a can of soda. It isn’t…easy to describe.”

Keith hums. His eyes are still open, but they’re drooping as slowly as melting ice cream. Lance doesn’t know what else to say or if Keith’s expecting anything else, so he keeps his mouth shut.

The dreams aren’t something he’s an expert in—not yet, at least—so Lance would like to keep as much to himself as he can until he finds out more. But knowing Keith, knowing the rest of his team, that privacy isn’t something that’s going to last for long.

“Wonder what it’s like to be a dream,” Keith mumbles, tripping over his words as sleep begins to pull him back under.

Lance swallows thickly, dragging his gaze across Keith’s smoothing-out features. His hair is messy and his bangs curl around his nostrils, causing a small wrinkle on his nose every few seconds. Huffing out a disbelieving chuckle, Lance is unable to blink, in fear he’ll fall asleep—or worse, wake up.

His hand stretches across the canyon their bodies make up, fingers flexing as they hover over Keith’s face. A heavy sigh slips out of him, soft and quiet in the small space between them, and with courage he’s surprised to find he’s gained, Lance dips his fingers into the tufts of black hair and brushes the strands across Keith’s forehead.

Keith’s eyes flutter open. There’s a question in his eyes he doesn’t ask.

Lance’s lips curl into a wobbly smile. “Go back to sleep, Keith,” he whispers, eyes traveling between Keith’s own. “I’m here.”

A tired grin pulls on his face, effectively stealing the breath from Lance’s lungs. Keith has no right to look so…happy at Lance’s statement. He shouldn’t be pushing himself closer so his nose brushes against Lance’s shoulder, shouldn’t be allowing Lance to push his hair back from his eyes and settle down into the mattress against him.

But he does anyway.

And Lance? He doesn’t say a word.

When Keith‘s breathing evens, Lance peels himself away, hating himself only a little. The warmth between them is too much, he’s too sweaty and smelling bad when Keith wakes up in the morning is the last thing he wants. But even then, as he lays down on the side of the bed Keith lent him for the night, his body runs cold. 

So he holds his hand. Lets his fingers trickle against the calluses spread across his palms, brushes his thumb against the scars staining the skin on his knuckles from fistfights. His hands rough, a little dry, and wrinkled, but they’re Keith’s, so Lance finds perfection in his flaws.

“Dammit,” he whispers to the silent room, forcing his eyes to drag away from Keith’s sleeping face to stare up at the ceiling. “I’m so screwed.”

He falls asleep, and it’s only hours later when a suffocating heat pulls Lance out once again. 

Before his brain can ignite his irritation, he realizes Keith’s hair is tickling the column of his throat. Not only is Keith close, but he’s halfway on top of Lance. One of his hands are tucked against Lance’s side and the other is sprawled against his chest. Their legs must have intertwined during their sleep at some point, too, because they’ve successfully kicked the covers to the corner of their bed— _whoa_ , there— _Keith’s_ _bed_ —when they twisted together like pretzels.

It’s too early for this. It’s the worst/best morning ever.

Lance pushes the thought out of his head and blinks his eyes slowly.

Even without the blanket covering them up, Lance is overheating. He’s cuddled with people before—his family and Hunk, mostly—but it hasn’t ever felt this overwhelmingly warm. The feeling isn’t a bad one, but his skin might be melting off his bones. It’s whatever.

Tucking his chin to his chest, Lance looks down at Keith’s sleeping face. His features are smoothed out and his lips are opened ever so slightly. Soft snores slip through the small part and Lance has to conceal a groan at the sight.

He never thought Keith would be a snorer but considering the fact his nose is quite literally smushed against his shoulder, he can’t say he’s surprised.

It’s cute, even if his breath could rival a dragon’s. Keith snores again and Lance’s nose scrunches involuntarily and— _oof_ , it’s _really_ that bad.

Lance kind of hates the fact he wouldn’t consider giving it up for the safety of the universe. Here he is, holding Keith like they’re something more than friends, thinking about how much he likes his stupid face. Why does it have to be _him_ ? Why couldn’t it be someone else? Ugh. Lance doesn’t even _want_ it to be anyone else. He’s in way too deep, inching closer and closer toward the point of no return with every moment he spends with Keith.

Once again, it’s too early to think about.

The time of day is unknown, which really should be an incentive to tug himself out of Keith’s octopus grasp, but instead, Lance finds himself tempted to pull Keith closer and drift back to sleep. As much as he wants to tell himself that a little while longer of rest wouldn’t hurt…he has a busy day today.

His eyes move along the curves of Keith’s cheek and the wavy mess of hair on his head. Lance tries not to think of the promise he whispered to Keith hours earlier. He fails.

A sigh pushes out from his chest and his body deflates along with his willpower. Would laying there, waiting until Keith wakes up, be weird? He’d be embarrassed to find out he attached himself to Lance all night long, right? Or—maybe he’d just shrug it off. Did Keith cuddle with people ever? Maybe this was normal for him.

Keith shifts. “Y’think real loud.”

Lance jolts and hits the top of his head against the wall.

After wincing and swearing under his breath, he looks down at his side. Keith’s eyes are still closed but there’s exhaustion weighing them down Lance hadn’t noticed before. He holds his body stiffly, almost as if he’s unsure as to whether or not he should pull away from Lance, despite the fact he seems keen on staying asleep.

Lance narrows his eyes. How long has he been awake and why hadn’t Lance noticed? Why hadn’t Keith _said_ anything, either? He pouts.

“Uh.” Lance clears his throat. “How long have you been awake?”

Keith’s quiet for a second. “Dunno. Been in and out of it for a while, I think.”

Swallowing thickly, Lance offers a short nod of his head. Keith’s voice is a little pitchy, the same way it gets when he’s first waking up, so there’s a chance Lance hasn’t been caught. Letting himself breathe out a small sigh, relief washes over him in a slow wave, but it does little to ease the turmoil curling inside of his chest. There’s no reason for him to be as panicked as he is, but it’s not every day when you wake up holding someone you _like_ -like in your arms.

He wonders if, for those who do get to live a life that spectacular, they still feel nervous, too.

He wouldn’t mind being nervous over Keith for forever.

“Can’t say I pegged you to be a cuddler,” Lance blurts out with a weak voice, inwardly cringing at the way his voice cracks. He hopes he can blame sleep for the embarrassing sound if Keith asks—he never gets this awkward when he falls asleep on Hunk.

After hesitating for one full second, Keith’s eyes shoot open and he jerks back like Lance had burned him. His hand, instead of touching the spot of Lance’s chest where his heart beats, now curls up against his collar and their legs untangle with a few fumbles and colorful words from Keith. Lance’s heart cracks, but it’s fine. The sight of Keith’s eerily red face more than makes up for the growing ache inside of him. A chuckle falls from his lips as Keith rubs his face with his now unoccupied hands, shoulders shaking from his own mortified laughter.

“I guess you didn’t know either, huh?”

Keith drags his hands down his face. “I am— _so_ sorry.” He squeezes his eyes shut, looking like he wishes he could be thrown out of the Castle’s airlock. The tips of his ears are tinted pink. “That’s never happened before, I swear.”

A corner of Lance’s lips curls up, bringing a lazy smirk onto his face. “I must be pretty special then, huh?”

As Keith’s eyes shoot open, he chokes out, “Wuh—shut up! It was probably an attempt to—to _suffocate_ you in my sleep. You woke me up choking on your own snores _three_ times last night.”

Lance scoffs, hand flying up to his chest as if he was struck by the statement. As Keith rolls his eyes at him, Lance fights off the growing smile, forcing himself to stay in character as he shoots a heatless glare toward him. Even though he isn’t really upset by the accusation—because, _come_ _on_ , everyone knows he doesn’t snore—it’s better to play the part than to wallow in the bitterness that’s lurking around here somewhere. At least this way he won’t seem suspicious.

“I do _not_ snore, thank you,” Lance says, shaking his head like he’s ashamed at the concept. He looks down, past his nose, at Keith. “You, however, _do_ snore, and it’s loud and scary. I thought a motor was hogging the blankets all night.”

That makes Keith smile. It’s a small, sheepish thing, but his eyes crinkle at the corners and there’s a flash of white teeth and fangs between the part of his lips, and even though it’s crooked, it’s painfully pretty. Keith knocks his fist against Lance’s shoulder and huffs out a scratchy laugh, shaking his head with the same dramatics Lance had moments before. His mask cracks, just a bit, and Lance’s gaze lingers on his face.

“You’re ridiculous,” Keith tells with a yawn hanging at the end of his words. “You’re lucky I’m too tired to properly judge you.”

“You truly are the kindest person I know.” Lance gently places his hand on the center of his own chest, his voice genuine regardless of the heavy sarcasm he carries.

“Shut up.” Keith rubs his eyes with the soft part of his knuckle before tossing his legs off the side of the mattress. Lance raises an eyebrow and rises from the nest of pillows clouding around him. Keith looks back at him. “I’m gonna get ready and head down to the training deck. I think there’s still some time before breakfast, so you can, uh…sleep in, if you want.”

Lance’s face falls slack. Huh. That’s not what he expected to hear from Keith. The embarrassment from how they woke up left—when, Lance isn’t so sure—and now the room’s fogged with some sort of fond affection he’s completely raw to. Keith’s eyes look black from the lack of proper lighting, but even if Lance was blind, there’d be no way to miss the tenderness flowing out of him with the intensity of a cracked dam.

His breath catches in his throat but thankfully, he manages to conceal it with a choked laugh.

“Do ya’ mind if I join you, instead?”

It’s Keith’s turn to look surprised. He’s quiet, only for a beat, but Lance isn’t nervous by the lack of a response. It’s early and knowing Keith, he probably needs double the amount of time for his words to actually process. But, once they do, Keith’s lips twist into something like a smile and he tilts his head to the side, just a bit, so the messy waves of his hair slips across his forehead. 

The urge to brush the strands aside, the remaining desire after what he had done the night before—his cheeks flush at the memory—is more prominent than ever. He’s more embarrassed over the fact he might actually _like_ Keith’s stupid mullet than anything. The softness swirling in his core is warm like the embers of a freshly burnt fire. It’s kind of hard to think straight like this.

“You want to join me for yoga?” Keith asks, raising one of his unkempt eyebrows.

Lance rubs the back of his neck. “Yeah, why not?” He shrugs. “I know we’ve got training together after Allura and I meet with Eminence Wrax, but uh, stretching is a good warmup, don’t you think?”

There’s another pause before Keith laughs quietly. “Yeah,” he replies with his own shrug. “You probably need to ease back into everything after slacking off for two days.”

Lance gasps. “Slacking off?” He asks, throwing his legs off the side of the bed. “All of that—‘s _lacking off_ ’—was not my choice, thank you very much!”

Rolling his eyes, Keith squats down and pulls open the drawers underneath his bed, rummaging through his clothes before pulling out his usual black jeans and t-shirt. He glances up at Lance with a tired smirk on his face. “Yeah, totally,” he says back, nonchalant, and Lance wants to smother him with a pillow or like—oh, God—maybe kiss him. Lance scoffs and stands to his feet when Keith chuckles again. “I’m gonna change, so…I’ll meet you at the training deck in fifteen?”

As Lance walks to the door, he looks over his shoulder and meets Keith’s sheepish gaze. With a surge of confidence he knows full well he shouldn’t have, he winks and says, “It’s a date,” in a voice he can only hope comes off as teasing and less, well. _Hopeful_.

Keith goes through the five stages of grief in a one second and sends Lance into rough cackles, which probably tears up his voice at such an early hour. It takes a moment for Keith to fully compose himself, but one he does, he shakes his head, eyes rolling once again with the intensity to move mountains. His cheeks are pink. Lance’s eyes loiter for a second longer than necessary.

“Whatever, dude,” Keith says back. “Go away and let me change in peace.”

He doesn’t have to be told twice. Lance leaves the room, giving Keith a salute as a goodbye, before stalking back to his bedroom to change into something more suited for exercise. He folds Keith’s sweatpants and t-shirt, telling himself it’s so he can return them to him later, but as soon as he steps out of his bedroom to move down to the training deck, the thought leaves his head and doesn’t come back.

Yoga with Keith was something he, unsurprisingly, wasn’t prepared for.

That’s not necessarily a bad thing, not when it comes down to the fact it’s training and not just fooling around with his friend, but he _really_ wasn’t equipped for some of the things Keith was going to whip out. Also, just like…seeing Keith exercising shouldn’t make his heart beat so fast. He wasn’t even being hot! He was just sweaty and smelled like he needed a shower, but—his cheeks also got red and he looked comfortable despite the wet strands of baby hairs curling against his face, so. Whatever.

However, the best part of their morning session is the fact that Lance is much more flexible than Keith. And, well, he wouldn’t be _Lance_ if he didn’t show off and brag about it until Keith’s eye was twitching and they both were yelling about who can do what pose the longest without pulling a muscle or breaking their faces on their mats.

Lance is fairly sure Keith hates him just a little bit now, but watching Keith shout in defeat when Lance did a handstand after Keith failed was hilarious, so he can’t say he really cares.

After working up a sweat and feeling much better in his body than he has in days, Hunk finds them in the training room and has to drag the two of them down to breakfast by the ears—but that’s only because Keith wouldn’t stop arguing with Lance about how he could ‘ _totally touch the floor with his palms’_ and Lance couldn’t stop himself from throwing his arms out and saying, “Prove it, guapo!”

Despite this, breakfast was good. While Lance was out of it, the rest of the team finished the leftovers from Mopra, and after a spiel about how his team doesn’t really love him and how betrayed he feels, Coran revealed a concoction he and Hunk had worked on the night before. Lance recognized the blue pudding-like substance in a small sauce container, but Hunk created everything else from a Loimian recipe book and it smelled like heaven on Earth.

He’s not embarrassed to say he pigged out that morning—he wasn’t the only person who did, either.

It’s easy to say that the morning was one of the most normal ones he’s had in a while.

But even then, his gut still twists unpleasantly as he and Allura say their goodbyes to the rest of the team.

Pidge attempts to tackle him in a hug, her nose pressing against his chest and arms wound tight around his waist before she does the same to Allura. There’s only enough time for his heart to squeeze just once before he’s attacked by Hunk in a rib-crushing embrace. He has to tap out after a few breathless seconds, but Lance still offers Hunk a self-assured smile, a silent, _I’ll be okay this time, don’t worry_.

Next to him, Lance’s eyes fall on to Keith. He’s peeling away from a skintight hug from Allura and she mumbles something to him that he can’t make out. Keith nods his head at whatever she said, a smile pulling at his lips as her hands slip from his arms to rest down near her sides. He says something to her, but as he speaks, his head turns and his eyes lock on Lance’s. He seems to pause in his talking before flicking his gaze back over toward Allura and finishing his statement.

Lance finds himself smiling, even with the anxiety rolling around the forefront of his mind. It’s funny how he can feel so much better by simply being with the people he loves. There’s still the fear, that much is evident by the way Coran places his hand on his shoulder and gives him a firm, yet comforting squeeze, but as he drags his eyes away from Keith to roam across his friends, something shifts in his chest and settles as if it was always meant to be there.

It’s a strange feeling, one he’s unsure of how to describe. It’s…it’s comfortable. Secure. But it’s so much more than those words; they don’t feel like they’re enough to describe how warm he is, but it’s all he’s got.

Shuffling movement catches his attention and Lance blinks, bringing his attention back to the real world. His friends have stepped aside, carrying on with a seeming forced conversation. Nevertheless, when Lance flicks his eyes across his friends, he realizes that they aren’t finished with their goodbyes but instead they’re parting for Keith to step forward to him.

His heart beats faster. They meet each other’s eyes.

“Hey.” Lance smiles. “You gonna miss me?”

Keith snorts. “Not at all,” he replies effortlessly. “Just wanted to make sure you don’t do anything stupid.”

Smile widening into a grin, Lance shakes his head. His heart is rising to his throat, but it’s not a bad feeling—it’s almost as if it wants to escape. Like it wants to get out and go back to where it belongs. He knows he can’t ask for Keith to spread his palms and to be gentle, but the words are hard to fight back. He runs his tongue across his teeth in a weak attempt to soothe himself, unsurprising when it doesn’t work.

“Stupid?” Lance repeats, arching a brow. “I’d never dream of stealing your role here in the team.”

Keith glares at him but it fades just as quickly as it came, his entire face relaxing. “Yeah, yeah.” He shakes his head. “Take it easy, though. We’re going to need our sharpshooter at some point.”

The smile slips off of his face and he offers Keith a small nod of his head. It’s another one of those times where he can read in between the lines of Keith’s words, where he knows what he’s really trying to say. And even if Lance couldn’t decipher the banter, something unnamed twinkles in his eyes, strong and apprehensive but also _trusting_.

It’s like Lance has been knocked down by a wave.

His hands twitch, wanting.

“I’ll be fine,” Lance promises. “Don’t worry about me.”

Keith furrows his brows. His jaw clenches and then relaxes, moving like he’s trying his hardest not to say something. Lance tilts his head to the side and raises his own eyebrows at the contemplative look scrunched on his face.

A few feet away from them, Allura is speaking to Coran, but their conversation seems to be winding down, so Lance knows he can’t ask Keith what’s up without making them late for their meeting. Frowning, he hopes he can convey his curiosity through the silence between them. They don’t have time for a vent session, but a smile, or maybe a nod from Keith would work.

“I know you will,” Keith replies, surprising him, “but that doesn’t mean I’ll stop worrying.”

Lance’s shoulders fall as his breath leaves his lungs. He can safely say he wasn’t expecting that. Usually, the thought of his friends worrying about him going on missions made him…oddly bitter, but this time it leaves Lance feeling content. Sort of like he enjoys knowing Keith cares.

He laughs softly as Allura steps away from Coran and approaches him. “Careful, Keith,” he says, eyes crinkling as a smile pulls on his lips, “keep that up and people’ll start thinking you care.”

Keith’s mouth stretches into his own sort of smile. “We wouldn’t want that.”

Before Lance can respond, Allura places her hand against his shoulder. He startles, shoulders jumping up near his ears before he turns his head to meet her eyes. There’s a feeling that looks almost apologetic across her features, but it smooths away quickly.

“It’s time,” she simply states. “We don’t want to be late.”

Lance nods his head back quickly. “Yeah, okay. I’ll just…” he turns, looking back to Keith to gives him an awkward smile. His cheeks grow warm as Keith works out another chuckle.

“Of course.” Allura drops her hand and steps back, giving him room to finalize his goodbyes.

Rubbing the spot of his armor she had touched, Lance glances up at Keith through his bangs. Keith huffs at him, amused either by the sheepish look across his face or the fact Lance isn’t sure how to continue with their goodbyes after being interrupted. But either way, Keith’s smiling, and that’s more than enough for Lance.

“So I guess I’ll— _oof_ !” Lance stumbles at the ferocity coming from the embrace Keith pulls him into. It’s a quick, one-armed hug that’s a little uncomfortable, but as Lance’s hands settle on top of his shoulders, it feels as if it lasts for hours. How is Keith so warm through his gloves? Why is he so _helpless_ when it comes down to Keith, now?

“Don’t exhaust yourself,” Keith says as he pulls away. His cheeks are blossoming red like fresh roses. “I still have to kick your ass during training later. I want it to be a fair fight.”

Lance breathes out a laugh. It sounds way too dreamy for the three seconds of contact he got, but the “yeah, okay…” he sighs out is even worse. After a beat, his reaction registers in his brain and Lance’s entire face burns with mortification and offense. “Wait! I could wipe the floor with you in my sleep! I’ll exhaust myself all I want!”

Behind him, Allura sighs. “We have no time for trifling, boys,” she says. “We’ve got to get going. Wrax is expecting us.”

The smirk on Keith’s face refuses to falter. Lance glares at him as he turns around and moves back over to Hunk, Pidge, and Coran and flips him off when Keith laughs once again.

A _ding_ catches his attention and Lance turns to Allura. She holds a tablet in her hand and she quickly types something before shrinking the device back down to pocket size. Glancing up at Lance, she gives him a short nod of her head, a confirmation that it’s time to go. Dread pushes through the softness fogging his chest and turns his blood icy. Lance sighs.

“You ready?” He asks Allura as the door to the Castle of Lions seals shut behind them. The hovercar is only a couple of yards away, getting closer and closer with each second. Allura squares her shoulders, seeming to be just as apprehensive as he feels.

“I suppose so,” she replies, pressing her eyebrows together. Allura turns her head to look at him. “As ready as I can be, at least.”

The hovercar parks in front of them and the back doors open. Lance gestures at her to step inside first and she offers him a small smile before taking her seat. He follows in after her, frowning as the door hisses and shuts.

“Do you feel—weird?” He asks quietly as the driver takes off.

Allura’s quiet for a second. “Weird how?”

Lance swallows and then shrugs his shoulders. “I don’t know. Maybe it’s just nerves.”

She hums softly, considering. The wrinkle between her eyebrows hasn’t moved since they stepped foot into the car, but she says nothing else. 

The ride to the palace is silent, giving him time to think. He can’t exactly say he’s grateful for it.

 

>>>

 

“You’re not focusing.”

That’s the third time in the last fifteen minutes he’s heard Eminence Wrax say those three words, and if Lance is being honest, he’s almost about to crack. If it weren’t for the light-hearted tone of their voice, he probably would have either broken down crying or run off to find a place where he can take a nap. Though, he knows that isn’t the best thing to be thinking of in a situation like this. Especially since Wrax is trying their hardest to help—but, _still_.

Lance’s eyes twitch and he takes a deep breath in a weak attempt to soothe himself. Wrax circles around him, the heels of their flat shoes clicking on the tile floor in the unused meeting room. The way they look at him with their blank white eyes, expecting, only seems to make his blood boil more and more. He suppresses the feelings and takes another breath of air, forcing himself into his happy place—which, right now, is _anywhere_ but here.

“You know,” he says, keeping his tone light in efforts to not offend them, “it’d be easier to know what I’m trying to focus _on_.”

A few feet away, Allura giggles to herself. Lance shoots her a glare and she quickly turns her attention back down to the piles and piles of the ancient, Altean kindle-like devices. She scrolls through the passages too fast for it to actually look like she’s reading, but her attempts at subtly are kind of funny, so he lets it go.

“Simply think about anything and concentrate on it,” they answer after Lance looks up to meet their eyes.

He frowns. Lance wonders if Loimians have something like ADHD because simply thinking about _one_ thing actually isn’t so simple. Concentrating on one thing is even more complicated, even though he took his medicine today. Space-Adderall doesn’t necessarily make ADHD easier to deal with, it just gives Lance the _umph_ to actually…do things. And sitting on the floor in a chilly, sterile-looking meeting room, isn’t helping.

“Your majesty, if I may—”

“Lance.” Wrax crouches down to his level and Lance meets their eyes. Something sparkles inside of the white—how, Lance isn’t entirely sure—but he lifts his chin and straightens his shoulders. “This task is going to be…well, it may be a little daunting,” they say, “but there is a reason for this.”

He breathes out a small sigh. “I know,” Lance mumbles, furrowing his brows. “I have to save Shiro. The universe chose me to do this. I know it’s fate, and I have to bring him back, it’s just…”

“Fate didn’t choose you,” they say as they shake their head, lips tilting into a kind smile. His stomach drops at Wrax’s words. Do they know that isn’t comforting at all? Probably not, but that doesn’t seem to stop them whatsoever. “This was your own doing. You made a series of choices that led you to this moment, did you not?”

Lance darts his eyes away as Wrax speaks, their words melting over him. Do they know the choices he made? Because Lance sure doesn’t, and they’d be really helpful to know right about now.

Haze fogs his mind. He releases a shuddering breath.

…Realistically thinking, there has to be a chance this is all some sort of mistake, right? Like, him? As a _leader_? That’s probably the worst idea that’s ever been had since Zarkon formed his Empire.

What can he even bring to the table, other than an above-average shooting accuracy and maybe a good idea or two? He can’t come up with anything else but that. He’s an okay fighter and he has okay ideas, but other than that, he’s painfully average. He had the same issue when he was trying to get into the Galaxy Garrison all those years ago—he was so lucky he had a sister who worked there, or else he probably wouldn’t have even been _considered_.

The truth of the matter is that there’s nothing special about him. The team never should’ve turned to him to lead after Shiro died, there was no reason for them to. He isn’t supposed to be the one the Black Lion opens up to, either, and he definitely shouldn’t have been the one to put on the Evermore.

His friends expect _him_

Sucking in a deep breath, he tries not to choke. Lance’s throat is so tight it’s hard for him to breathe.

“I—” his voice breaks and he blinks quickly, fighting off the tears gathering in his eyes. It’s futile but that doesn’t stop him from refusing to let them fall. “I…I don’t know.”

There’s a pause that drags on for too long and his chest only aches more and more with each passing moment.

Wrax has nothing to say to him. They’re probably looking at him now, regretting their decision for choosing him—for setting up the situation where he chooses himself.

His vision blurs as he glances up at the Eminence. His lips pull into a tight frown as they narrow their eyes. The action isn’t threatening—it’s like they’re trying to pry into his mind in hopes to figure out what is going on inside his head. The curiosity radiating off them is so intense, Lance can’t help but wonder the same thing.

“You…don't know?” Wrax repeats.

Lance shakes his head in a quick, jerky movement. His hands tremble against his thighs but his attempts to squeeze them into fists doesn’t help the energy buzzing through his body. The back of his skull pounds in deep, heavy beats, making the hairs on the back of his neck stick straight up.

He has so many questions he wants to ask, but he doesn’t know _how_. But even with the surge of confusion, he wants to tell Wrax…everything. Everything that’s happened from day one, all the way to this very second. The urge to spit the truth about how he feels about the Evermore and Loimia and how his team is going to get the clone—something he’s been refusing to think too deeply about since he stayed with Keith last night—bubbles inside of him, burning and threatening to erupt out of him.

“I don’t know why I’m here.” Lance mumbles, the words pushing out of him without prompting. “I don’t know why I’m here,” he says again, “other than the fact you wanted me to wear the Evermore and—help you.”

“You—you’re the next Black Paladin,” Wrax stutters out the reply, glancing over to Allura before daring their eyes back to Lance with an emotion akin to concern etching across their features. “You were chosen to help lead your team. You’re the one who’s supposed to bring everyone back together.”

Lance shakes his head. His hair falls into his eyes. “There isn’t a reason for that,” he mumbles, his tongue feeling like cotton in his mouth. “I was just there. I didn’t do anything. I don’t know why I’m here. I don’t know why—”

Realization shoots across Wrax’s face as quick as a lightning bolt. Their expression shifts from worried to shocked and then shaken in a matter of seconds. Wrax’s eyebrows lower and their voice is sour when they yell, “Satha, that’s _enough_.”

Everything comes to a halt.

The heavy feeling hanging over him slips away and the air is now easier to breathe. As he gasps for breath, heart drumming sporadically in his chest, Lance drags his hands from his legs and presses his palms flat against the breastplate of his armor. His body shakes underneath his hands.

Head spinning, Lance blinks in an attempt to clear the fog out of his vision. The hazy doubt clouding around him is lesser than it had been, but it’s still there and he has no doubt about that. It’s hard to notice when the thundering inside of his head aches as bad as it does, though, so he just thanks the universe for allowing himself the ability to think without suffocating.

What the hell just happened? The disorientation is too familiar but—how? Where had he felt that confusion before? There’s no way that was _him_. When Lance looks up, he notices there’s another person in the room and if he weren’t able to recognize the blonde curls and dark skin immediately, then the two pairs of arms and legs certainly help.

As Satha steps into the room, the doors click shut behind her. The sound echoes against the walls before fading, leaving the only audial thing as the clacking of her shoes against the tile floors and Lance’s own labored breathing. He hasn’t seen her since the temple where he’d found the Evermore, but nothing about her looks different other than the fact she now wears a long-sleeved shirt and soft, slacks-inspired pants.

“My apologies,” Satha says, blinking her set of four eyes. Her voices echo just as her footsteps had and it effectively sends chills crawling down Lance’s spine. “I will admit I went too far there, Paladin. I wasn’t aware you had felt things so strongly.”

Lance’s jaw drops. He can’t fight off the icy look he sends her way, but she doesn’t seem to care about it, anyway. He remembers Wrax mentioning Satha’s an Empath during the alliance’s meeting, but he never knew _that’s_ what it meant. He just thought Satha was able to perceive people’s emotions, not make _them_ feel them. Kind of a sucky ability, if he’s being honest.

Wrax presses their lips into a thin line. “You know better than to do that to non-consenting people,” they say, a bitterness unheard from them slipping into the words they speak. “I’m disappointed in you.”

Satha at least looks ashamed as she tucks her chin to her chest. Her hands curl across her torso, long claws briefly clacking together. Lance gulps and looks up to her eyes. They’re either void of emotion or Lance just doesn’t understand her well enough to read. For some reason, he’s thinking it’s the former.

“You now know how he feels,” Satha states. Their tone is the audial equivalent of a shrug and Lance fights back a scoff at her words. “He doesn’t believe he should be the one who does this. His mind is too convoluted to focus on learning the powers of the Evermore.”

Well, _okay_ then. Lance frowns and looks away from her, his heart dropping as he shifts in his spot on the floor. Even if Satha’s right, it doesn’t mean she has to _say_ it. Getting psychoanalyzed out in the open like this leaves him feeling too raw. He curls in on himself as if that can somehow conceal what’s already been shown.

“If that’s the case, we would ask for your assistance,” Wrax says firmly. “There is no excuse for that.”

Satha sighs, shoulders falling. “Don’t you see that this is a mistake?” She asks in a hushed whisper. “He’s a child and now you’ve put him in more danger than he was ever going to be in, to begin with, Wrax.”

Wrax clenches their jaw and looks to the side, hiding their face from Lance and Allura’s direction. The feathers on their wings seem to puff up as they tap their foot on the floor.

Lance’s eyes dart between the two in front of him as he takes in the words Satha said. She’s…confusing. One moment she doesn’t seem to like him and the next she acts like she cares? He’s literally never had a conversation with her! What’s her deal?

“I know that this task is dangerous, but I—I can’t back out now,” Lance speaks up. “Eminence Wrax said they were going to teach me, and I trust them.”

Satha looks over to him, frowning. “You do not understand what you’re capable of.”

“I do.” Everyone turns their head to face Allura. She sits on the ground like a cheerleader, legs bent at the knees and twisted to the side. Even though she hasn’t risen from her spot on the floor, she somehow is looking at everyone from a pedestal. The tone of her voice screams confidence and poise when she says, “The reason I turned to Lance was because he stood up for his teammate in a time of desperation.”

Lance is the one to break the silence. “Wait, what?” he asks lamely.

The expression on her face shifts, looking much softer when she meets his eye. He inhales a shallow breath as his gaze flicks between her own, looking for clarification her pink and blue eyes. He swallows, the gulp loud despite the blood rushing through his ears. Everything is so quiet in the room, yet it’s so _loud_.

“When I had announced we had to move on,” Allura continues, gaze falling from Lance’s for only a beat, “Keith was…distraught. He had lost his brother and one of his only friends, and regardless of—whatever was going on between you two, you were the one who stepped up.”

Next to him, Wrax and Satha share a look. Lance ignores this and he shakes his head.

“No, I—I really wasn’t,” he says back. “It was Hunk. He’s the one who told you we all needed time to adjust.”

She nods, slowly. “Maybe so,” she hums, tilting her head to the side, “but you were the one who said Keith didn’t have to be alone through his heartache. You pushed aside your bitterness and you reached out to him. We all know your heart is good, Lance—you’re a Paladin, for goodness sake—but that was the moment we all saw you were more than you let on.”

Opening his mouth, Lance’s is only able to let out a weak noise. His cheeks warm as he snaps his jaw shut and clears his throat. Does…she really think that? Looking back on that moment, it doesn’t really seem like that big of a deal—dragging Keith into a friendship doesn’t make him leader worthy. 

Is…Keith the only reason he’s here?

“Thanks, Princess,” Lance mumbles as he rubs the back of his neck. “I guess I just don’t really see it.”

Satha places a hand on his head, startling him back into reality. He looks up at her, eyes wide as she stares down at him with a complicated look scrunched on her face. She then offers a tiny smile, but with the razor-sharp teeth lining her gums, it’s more threatening than anything. Somehow, she must sense his trepidation, because she closes her mouth and pats his messy curls.

“You will, though,” Satha says, her voice doused with absolute certainty. She drops her hand back to her side. “Even if you are rather messy right now, I suppose this is supposed to be a…learning experience. The first step in finding peace within yourself is to allow your emotions to be felt. Only then can you control them.”

Lance’s lips twist into what he hopes looks like a smile. His stomach is tied in knots and as much as he’d like to, he doesn’t know how to look away from her eyes. Thankfully, Wrax comes to the rescue and they place their hand against Satha’s back. They share a look before Satha nods her head.

“Once again, I would like to apologize,” she says lowly. “I came here to offer my assistance if needed and I jumped the gun.” She peels her eyes away from Lance and looks back over to Wrax. “I truly do wish for the best outcome—whatever that may be. If you believe this Paladin can bring you some peace of mind, then I urge you to take advantage of that.”

Wrax’s lips twitch into a small smile. Their heart-eyes are so vivacious it almost makes Lance’s own crush on Keith seem weak. Satha smiles back, showing off her fangs and all, and Lance once again has to fight off an obvious reaction. It’s not every day you see two aliens head-over-heels for each other but man, when it’s obvious, it’s _obvious_.

But, then, Satha is looking back to Lance, gaze so intense it engulfs him entirely.

“Do not be so hesitant,” she says, “or else you will live to regret what you once let slip through your fingers.”

With that, Satha offers them a single nod of her head and turns away, leaving the room with cryptic words and the sealing of double doors. It takes Lance a moment to turn his attention back to Wrax but after he’s peeled his eyes from the door, he finds he isn’t the only one thinking of the words Satha had left behind.

“…Wrax?” Lance calls out, hesitant.

They startle at the calling of their name and snap their head back to meet Lance’s eyes. Blinking away whatever trance they were in, Wrax clears their throat and nods their head. “What both Princess Allura and Satha say is true,” Wrax says quickly. Their eyes drift back toward the doors for a split second before they turn their full devotion back to Lance. “While I cannot understand you as in-depth your friends or as an Empath can, I’ve seen you enough to understand your heart. Uh, you…you have no reason to worry over your worth. Fifty GAC to a rich man isn’t the same as it is to a poor one.”

Lance slowly nods his head. He has to admit, the validation is nice, even if he is suffocating from it. He’s never been good at accepting excessive compliments, so he usually just throws on his cocky mask and accepts them, but the logical part of his brain, which sounds like Allura, tells him doing that now wouldn’t be the most appropriate response. So, instead, Lance smiles.

Wrax always has a kindness to them Lance doesn’t understand—maybe it’s because of their young age and what they’ve had to see so far in their life. There’s a connection between them, he guesses—something Wrax sees inside of Lance they want to dig out from deep inside of him.

If only there was a way to figure out _what_.

“Thank you, your majesty,” Lance says with a weak voice and frail smile. “Uh, but…I still don’t get how this is supposed to help me find Shiro? I mean, find him _again._ Since I only saw him in that one weird dream and then when I put on the Evermore.”

They take a deep breath. “This case is…special,” Wrax mumbles to themselves. “Since, as a Paladin, you have a special type of quintessence that grants you the ability to enter your Lion’s scape...”

Lance frowns. “Wait, you’re telling me those dreams are—normal for a Paladin?” He turns his head to Allura, his gaze almost accusing until he notices the ambivalence she holds as well.

“I’ve never heard of having dreams like that coming with the job,” Allura says, frowning. “Then again, I’ve never heard of the Lions switching Paladins…this is all very new to me, too.”

His shoulders drop. Lance should’ve realized Allura would know just as much as he did—it’s not like she’s a Paladin or a total expert on the Lions. She probably only knows what her father had told her before he died, or what she’s found in his logs. That doesn’t stop his disappointment, though.

Having answers—real, solid answers to the questions that clog his head—would be nice.

“Would you like to explain what happens in your dreams?”

“Uh.” Lance’s face twists into something sour. “Like, the one where I saw Shiro…?”

Wrax nods their head and they sit down in front of Lance, folding their hands over their lap as they watch him with earnest interest. Lance breathes out a weak chuckle before he shrugs his shoulders weakly. How _does_ he describe the dream? It still seems too crazy to be real.

“It was like I got kicked out of my body? And suddenly I was just—there, in the Black Lion.” Lance picks at his Paladin boots. “But uh, in the dreams—not just the one with Shiro—everything feels airy. When I’m reliving those memories, things usually get fuzzy when I do things differently, but seeing Shiro…it wasn’t like the others. That was…real.”

Silence. Wrax tilts their head to the side, eyes calculating. Lance shrinks underneath their gaze.

“Maybe the Black Lion is forcing a connection with you,” Wrax says. “Is that possible?”

Lance hesitates before he offers them a weak shrug. “I don’t choose the Lion, they choose me,”

“The Black Lion absorbed the Black Paladin’s quintessence after he passed. Would be it unreasonable to think they knew what was going on and they wanted someone to save him?” Wrax asks.

Glancing over to Allura, Lance shrugs again. This time, it’s much more sheepish and unsure than the last. Why is he the one being asked these questions when he knows just as much as Wrax does about this? Actually, scratch that—he’s pretty sure Wrax knows way more than he does, what with their infinite knowledge.

“I guess it wouldn’t be…crazy,” Lance says back, frowning. “It would make sense why all of the dreams are memories. Maybe the Black Lion wanted to get to know me more and didn’t know how.”

Seemingly pleased with the answer, Wrax nods their head and tightens their grip on their own hands. Eagerness rolls off of them with ease and it’s not surprising to him one bit. It finally feels like they’re getting somewhere, even if these are just theories they’re throwing around.

“Wonderful,” Wrax says, catching his attention as they stand back up to their feet. “So we have a starting point.”

“…and where’s that?”

“Your relationship with the head of Voltron,” they reply easily. “That’s what you need to put your focus on—not your feelings, but your connection with the Black Lion. They are the key to this mission. If you don’t have a strong linking with them, then seeing the Black Paladin again will be left as a game of chance.”

That…makes sense. At least, it makes the most sense out of anything else they could’ve come up with. He doesn’t have the strongest relationship with the other Lions, now he thinks about it. He only felt them when the team would form Voltron, and it’s been…ages since that’s happened. 

“I won’t let it come to that,” he promises. 

Lance closes his eyes. He has to focus, just as Wrax had told him before. Despite the fact he’s been thrown into the deep end here, there’s a stark coil inside of his chest. It rolls around, growing larger and larger with each second he does nothing. There’s no time to dawdle. If the Galra Empire is planning an attack on Loimia and they’re attempting to infiltrate his team with a clone of their leader, Lance wants to be one step ahead of them. No—he needs to be one step ahead of them.

Team Voltron was plucked apart by genocidal maniacs. He’s tired of the stasis he and the rest of the team have fallen into. Even if he isn’t the best option to lead the team, he isn’t going to fail them. He has to try, no matter how much the weight of the mission is holding him down.

He has to do this. For Shiro.

Taking a deep breath, he beings to search.

The whispers of his doubts are louder than usual.

Questions plague his mind, asking him what he thinks he’s doing, how he’ll get through this, but the volume is more annoying than anything.

He’s looking for the Black Lion.

He knows that they’re around somewhere; he can feel the breeze dancing around him as he delves deeper into his thoughts. Every time he thinks he’s close to them, just a brush away from grasping on to them, the Black Lion slips further away.

Where are they? Lance frowns, clenching his fists. It doesn’t usually take this long to find Blue—her purrs reverberate in his chest constantly, it seems—so why is the Black Lion into playing this game of cat and mouse now, of all times? They have to know they’re on a tight schedule, right?

Project Kuron could start any second and the Black Lion is playing games with him.

 _Come on,_ he presses forward, eager. _You wanted this, right?_

The pitch-black surrounding him doesn’t say anything back. He can’t feel the Lion anywhere, anymore. Everything around Lance is just _still_. His head is quiet for once, void of everything but the one thing he actually needs to be there.

Looking down at his hands, he shoves away the annoyance pricking at his gut.

How is he supposed to make this work when he can’t even connect with the Lion? He fails to convince himself everything’s fine, even after repeating the thought in his head a dozen times. The flare of irritation ignites inside of him and he takes a steady breath. Satha told him to control his emotions, but how does someone do that? Not everyone can be cold and calculating!

Right as he’s about to open his eyes, about to give up, he pauses.

The floor is spinning underneath his feet at the realization.

His eyes…are already open. He isn’t sitting in the meeting room anymore. How did he not even notice that? He’s standing up in a corridor of darkness, so vast and so small he has no idea where it starts and where it ends.

“What the…” Lance mumbles, pouting. “Is this…my brain?”

Amusement brushes against his back. It’s colder than the area surrounding him, evident by the way he shivers. The feeling is fleeting, however; he can’t remember what the cold felt like against his body even a second later. All he knows is that it was just the _concept_ of cold. He doesn’t feel anything else touching him, either—not even the snugness of his bodysuit and the weight of his armor.

Lance’s eyes widen. “Whoa, is this my Paladin initiation?” he asks into the void. “’Cause, I gotta say, I have _no_ idea what you want me to do here, buddy. Do you have a list of rules or something?”

 _You’re here,_ the Black Lion’s voice—their lack of a voice?—is easy to remember. The tenderness and warmth behind the words they offer up have Lance’s shoulders dropping tension he wasn’t even aware he carried. _This is all I wanted from you, Paladin. You are here._

But even with those words, he has _no_ idea what they mean or what’s going on. Another gust of wind that hits him, once again feeling like laughter. It’s not mocking, not even teasing, just…delighted. Lance isn’t so sure how he feels about that, but he doesn’t question it. Instead, he whips around on his heel, eyes narrowed as they roam the black scape. It’s hard to tell what he’s exactly looking for, but something tells him it’s around here somewhere.

“So…” Lance darts his eyes to his sides as he speaks. He feels… _eyes_ on him, but it’s impossible to tell which direction they’re coming from. It reminds him of when he was a kid when he and Veronica would steal extra cookies in the middle of the night without their mamá’s permission. His skin buzzes underneath the attention. “Did you wanna chat? Tell me about those freaky dreams you’ve been giving me, huh? Or are you going to take me to Shiro?”

The Black Lions hums. The sound fills his mind. It’s not unpleasant.

 _He’s the reason why you’re here, is he not?,_ the Black Lion asks.

Lance pauses. “Uh.” He tilts his head to the side and scratches the back of his neck, mostly out of habit. “I mean if you want to get into technicalities, then…yeah?”

The void falls quiet.

Without the feeling of the Black Lion, it’s… much creepier, Lance thinks. The silence is deafening and if his ears weren’t almost constantly ringing, he’d start to panic at the lack of noise. But before he can call out to the Lion, there’s another brush against the back of his head. It feels like a huff of air—of someone breathing.

There’s a twinge of excitement in his chest as he turns around to face the Black Lion. He’s ready to reach out, maybe to pat their giant mechanical paw or to jump into the cockpit to warm up the seat for a long conversation—one he knows they need to have— but instead of a metal Lion’s foot, he meets ashen brown eyes. A set of eyebrows raised and unimpressed. Lips twisted with…disappointment.

The black void has faded into the familiar purple and blue cosmic dust.

A nervous chuckle pushes out of Lance’s chest. Shiro wasn’t the last thing he expected to see, but he definitely didn’t think he’d be finding him so soon. Maybe the Black Lion was tired of their game. Or, maybe they were ready to speed this along—it’s funny to think about the Lion not being too keen on confrontation, really—but either way, the sight of Shiro is still startling.

“Uh,” Lance beats a cough out of his chest with the side of his fist. “Shiro! Hey! What’s—uh, what’s crackin’?”

“I want to say I’m surprised to see you again,” Shiro says, tilting his head to the side, “but I’m really not.”

Lance rubs the back of his neck, skin warm against his palm. He kind of wishes he had time to prepare a speech. Standing here, now, Lance has no idea how to even begin to describe what’s going on. He’s pretty sure dropping the whole clone-bomb would be way too abrupt. Then again, small talk? In the astral plane? Probably isn’t the best idea, either. That’s never stopped him, though.

“Is that any way to greet company?” Lance asks, dropping his hand back down to his side in hopes to look more casual. With the way his voice squeaks, he’s pretty sure the façade doesn’t really work, but at least he’s _trying._  

Shiro rolls his eyes at him. “How’d you get here, Lance?”

Another nervous chuckle slips from his lips. Of course, Shiro would ask for answers Lance is still trying to figure out for himself. “Ah, well, you know...” He darts his eyes away from Shiro’s figure, looking out to the dark planes sprawling out for eternity. “It’s kind of complicated?”

There’s a pause.

“I bet it is,” Shiro replies after a second. His lips dip into a small frown. “Is everything all right?”

“Define ‘all right’?”

Shiro huffs out a laugh and he shakes his head, almost fondly, and Lance straightens his back. He then surprises Lance by asking, “You’re looking for me, right?”

Lance’s eyes widen a fraction. “What?” He asks, blinking owlishly. “How’d you figure that out?”

He shrugs his shoulders. “You don’t look as shocked to be here as you were the first time,” Shiro says back as if it’s an easy answer to Lance’s question. Lance gives him confused look and Shiro snorts before continuing, “ _And_ it doesn’t look like you’re in the middle of a breakdown, so…it’s safe to say there’s a reason you had the Black Lion bring you here.”

Lance opens his mouth and then closes it. “I could be dead?”

That earns him a dirty look. “You’re not dead,” Shiro says, voice flat. “Why do you keep saying you’re dead when we see each other?”

“Wishful thinking?” Lance offers as he brushes his hair off his forehead.

“Not funny.”

 _Oof_. Lance winces. All things considered, that…probably wasn’t the coolest thing to say in front of Shiro. You know, since he’s dead and all. Lance shakes it off. He can’t afford to get distracted now. Shiro was right, he did come here for a reason, and making sure he’s all caught up on what’s about to go down with the Team and Loimia, in general, is more important than small talk and the awkwardness fizzing up inside him.

“Right.” He clears his throat. “Sorry. But, uh, you were right—I was looking for you, ‘cause… I gotta tell you something.”

Shiro looks to the side before he nods his head, slowly. There’s a hint of uncertainty behind his eyes as he says, “…Okay. The floor’s yours.”

Lance takes a deep breath, but it doesn’t stay put for longer than three seconds before all of the air rushes out his chest like a deflating balloon. “Man, this is so crazy. I mean, it’s like movie-level crazy. It’s so—wow, it’s just. Heh. It’s really hard to say—”

“Why don’t you start at the beginning?”

After a pause, he considers Shiro’s words, and then he nods his head. The beginning. He could do that. 

“I told you about the Evermore last time. The magical tiara that brought me to you?” When Shiro nods his head, Lance repeats the motion and flattens his palms against the tops of his thighs. He takes another deep breath. “Okay. Cool. So, uh, the Eminence of Loimia—their name is Wrax—wanted me to uh, put it on so I could come find…you.”

Watching as Shiro tilts his head to the side, he swallows around the lump gradually forming in his throat. There are too many emotions crossing Shiro’s face to name, but he can pinpoint his confusion the easiest. He knows how _that_ feels, and despite the fact he’s probably not the best at explaining things, he tries anyway.

“Apparently, it grants Loimians the ability to like…travel through the dimensions. They talked about it during the meeting we had but I was uh…distracted.” Lance makes a face as he remembers watching Keith draw on his tablet, how he looked with the sun hitting the side of his face. He shakes his head and clears his throat. “I remember hearing that it turns their people into pure quintessence when they’re ready to die. And, uh, it helps their spirit-things sort of…live forever.”

Shiro’s face twists. “You’re telling me that you’re—immortal?”

Lance blanches. He hadn’t thought of that. “I—don’t know,” he replies quickly, forcing the thought out of his head. No time to think about _that_ . “Not the point. Uh, anyway. Loimia’s people are sort of like, spiritual? Like Eminence Wrax has a third eye that can sometimes show them visions of the future. And, uh, their girlfriend—er, _advisor_ —is an Empath who can read emotions and apparently amplify them. Which, lemme tell you—not fun to be on the receiving end of that.

“Uh. Anyway, a few months ago, the Eminence had a vision of the Galra attacking. They’ve been really quiet lately, too, so that raised enough alarms for them to panic a bit, I guess?” Lance looks down to the floor, frowning. “They then told us that…they saw Haggar and a couple of soldiers with your body. Uh. Wrax told us they spoke of fixing something defective with your muscles. They wanted to scrap that version and remake it so you wouldn’t be weak.”

Horror dawns on Shiro’s face, mixing easily with his rage. “They’re making a robeast out of me?”

“That’s what we thought at first, too…” Lance shakes his head slowly, eyes fluttering shut. If doctors in those medical drama’s find it hard telling someone they have a terminal illness, they should try telling someone their body has been cloned and is going to try to kill their friends. It’s so much worse.

Breathing in, Lance opens his eyes. Shiro’s brow is creased and his lips press into a thin frown. The light in his eyes Lance is so used to seeing has gone away, leaving them as vacant as the astral plane around them. His heart struggles to not fall into the depths of his gut.

“Shiro, they figured out how to make a replica of your body,” Lance says quietly. “They want to use it to—to infiltrate the team and take us out one by one.”

He doesn’t know how, but he thinks he sees Shiro’s body flicker. One moment he’s as still as a corpse and the next he’s sitting down, legs dangling out of the floor and hand pressing against his forehead. Lance knits his brows together. He steps forward, reeking hesitance as he sits down across from Shiro.

“I don’t…what the…” Shiro mumbles. His eyes dart around but they’re too far away for him to be focused on anything. Lance watches him with rapt attention.

“There’s a plus side, though.”

Shiro looks up, eyes sharp. “A plus side to the Galra Empire using my body to kill my friends?”

A weak laugh falls from Lance’s lips. “Uh, well, no…that part sucks,” Lance agrees. “But the fact we know about the clone means we won’t fall for his tricks. They said he’s supposed to be an exact carbon copy of you.”

“That doesn’t make this any better, Lance.”

“No—ugh.” Lance rubs his face. He has no idea how to say this. “It’ll be like a soulless version of you—that’s what Wrax said. Everything that’s alive has quintessence, so for this—clone to function, he’s going to have to have artificial quintessence _and_ a way for Haggar to control his mind.”

Peeling his eyes away from Lance, Shiro looks down to his mechanical arm. He twists the prosthetic around, its buzzing silent now that it’s just a trick of the light. He glances back up at Lance, brows twitching low above his eyes. Lance follows his gaze away from the arm and meets his eyes. A heavy tension hangs in the air above them.

“Lance, what are you…”

“Eminence Wrax had a reason for me to put on the Evermore,” he interrupts, his voice a hint away from solemn. “There’s a reason the Black Lion forced a connection with me—a reason I’m talking to you now. I don’t know how, not yet, but…” Lance furrows his brows and lifts his chin. “There’s a way for me to bring you back home.”

The ambivalent look on Shiro’s face shifts to shock. He’s quiet, but his eyes are wide and telling—he has no idea what to say. Lance can’t blame him, either, so he’s patient to let his words settle. Plus, he’s not going to lie, the quiet is nice, even if the air surrounding them is as thick as molasses. And non-existent.

“I don’t…you…” Shiro blinks. His eyes look like they’re ready to pop out of his head. “But I died?”

Lance nods his head slowly like he’s trying to explain something to a baby. “Yep. You’re dead. But your quintessence still exists, ‘cause you’re a kick-ass Paladin—”

“Language.”

“—and since I have the same abilities that Wrax does with the Evermore, I can…” He makes a face face

“They cured my DMD…” Shiro mumbles, voice tightening with each syllable he says. “I don’t understand—”

“Hey, whoa,” Lance reaches his hand out to place on his shoulder before he hesitates. Shaking off the weird feeling in his chest, Lance follows through with the motion and offers a squeeze. The chill sends goosebumps rising up his arms. He ignores it. “I know this is a lot to be hit with at once, but I have no idea how long this process is going to take, so you don’t have to think too deeply about it—”

Shiro looks up at him, lips trembling. Lance freezes. Oh no. If Shiro starts crying, Lance will start crying, and then this entire conversation will be a _mess_. He has no idea how much longer he has to have this conversation, anyway, he has to power through it. There’s no time for crying or any other emotions.

“How can I not?” Shiro asks, releasing a shaky breath. It’s unneeded, Lance knows that now, but for some reason seeing Shiro do that brings him a sense of comfort. He’s still human, still used to living, even after months of not being alive. “I—first of all, you’re immortal now? Or something? And then you’re telling me I have a clone and now you’re telling me you can bring me back to life and I won’t have to worry about—about dying before forty because of muscular dystrophy?”

Lance opens and closes his mouth like a fish. “You were dying?”

It probably isn’t the classiest question, but he has no idea what to say to Shiro. How do you comfort someone who found out they’re coming back to life? Wait—why does he even have to comfort him? Shouldn’t he be, like, jumping for joy now?

Shiro looks back up to him. “How long has it been? Since the fight with Zarkon?”

That’s…not what Lance was expecting to hear, but after this last week, his expectations don’t really seem all that realistic anyway. But still, even then, the question takes a second to register in his brain. He knows exactly how long it’s been. Shouldn’t Shiro know, too?

“Around seven or eight months,” Lance answers slowly, eyes narrowing. “Why does it matter?”

Shiro’s face scrunches. It’s hard to gauge his expression, but something about how stiffly he holds himself makes Lance uneasy. 

“It feels like it’s been…ages,” Shiro whispers, voice hushed as he speaks, “but then again, it’s almost like no time has passed at all.”

Lance hesitates before his gaze roams across the purple and black space surrounding them. Huh. Now that he’s thinking of it, time probably does move strangely in a place like this. There’s no sunlight, no moon to rise and fall when the night’s done. There isn’t even automated lights that cycle through artificial time. It’s just…dark everywhere except for where they’re seated

How has Shiro not absolutely lost it by now?

Chest aching, Lance shakes it off. He can’t waste time thinking of that, not when he doesn’t have this ability of his perfected. If he shoots out of here in the middle of the conversation, then Lance has no way to guarantee when he’ll be able to reach Shiro again.

“We can bring you back home, Shiro,” he says, picking his voice up to cut through whatever internal monologue Shiro’s going through. It catches his attention easily enough. “I don’t…I have no idea what you’ve been doing here, but it doesn’t matter anymore, right?”

Shiro shakes his head. “You don’t understand, Lance,” he says. “My life was already on a timer before I was taken prisoner by the Galra. I only had a few years left in peak condition before I started to lose function in my body, and—”

“But they fixed that,” Lance reminds him, the pitch of his voice tilting up toward desperation. “We’re going to stop them from controlling your body, and then somehow Allura and I are going to drag you out of here. We can fix this.”

Shiro gives him a pitying look. “There are some things you can’t fix—”

Another chord inside of Lance snaps.

“Stop trying to be wise!” Lance shouts. His voice cracks as he speaks and the hurt look that spreads across Shiro’s face is almost gratifying. He feels bad for thinking that, but what Shiro is implying makes him feel even worse. “You say that like—like I don’t know there are some things that won't ever change. I never thought I’d get to see you again, or—or hear you tell me to stop cursing! You were dead to all of us until these weird dreams started, and I just—”

Shiro’s quiet.

Lance clenches his fists. “If your disorder is still there when you get back then _fine_ , whatever. We’ll travel the entire universe to make sure we can find a way to help you. And if we can’t, then—at least you wouldn’t be dead! We’d have more time. You could—” Lance narrows his eyes. “I know you want to see Keith again,” he says. “And your—partner. Adam. You could see him again, too.”

His eyes fall closed. It’s a low blow, Lance knows it, but he’s desperate because Shiro—he sounds like he’s ready to _reject_ Lance’s offer. And he can’t have that. There’s no way he’ll let Shiro say _no_ , not after seeing the hope in his friends’ eyes yesterday. Not after Keith showed him everything he’s lost.

“But what about you?” Shiro asks into the quiet. His voice blends gentle and serious all too well.

Swallowing down the lump in his throat, Lance’s eyes flick across Shiro’s face. “What?” he asks, almost breathlessly. “What about me?”

The skin between Shiro’s heavy eyebrows wrinkles as he knits them together. His eyes roam across Lance’s face and he frowns, a sadness showing he hasn’t seen from him before. Lance fights back a glare at the sight. It’s not his fault, he reminds himself.

“You look exhausted, Lance,” Shiro finally says. “You’re so—you’re too young to look like that. I don’t know anything about the Evermore, or what Allura wants to do to help, but…”

Lance clenches his jaw. “What?” He asks again.

Shiro’s lips twitch and he presses them into a line like he’s trying to fight off a frown. “I…what’s happening to you?”

The question hits Lance like a ton of bricks. He sputters for a moment before looking down at his hands. Like Shiro had said to him before, he’s much more solid-looking than Shiro is. His body does have a bluer tint to it, just as Shiro looks a little purple, but other than that, he looks normal. Lance glances up at Shiro with a frown.

“Not—” Shiro shakes his head. “You just look older.”

Lance furrows his brows as Shiro’s words hang in the air. “…It’s been a long seven months,” he admits after a second. His shoulder sags and his back slouches, eyelids growing heavy and falling shut for a brief moment before he pries them back open to look at Shiro. “Not only for me but for all of us. We don’t know what to do without you. That’s—we need you back with us, Shiro.”

Shiro huffs out a lifeless laugh. “So I can lead Voltron again?”

Lance’s lips tremble. “So we can have our friend back,” he says softly. Gloss shine’s in Shiro’s eyes as his face grows lax. Lance licks his lips before he looks back down to his hands. “I don’t know what I’m doing. I can’t be the leader the team wants me to be. I know I’m not meant to be the Black Paladin—I’m your replacement, sure, but nothing can fill the hole you left in the team.”

“Lance…”

“No, stop.” He raises his hand before shaking his head. “I know I’m not the true Black Paladin. That doesn’t upset me, ‘cause I know that’s your job. I don’t know why I’m the one who’s next in line for the leader position, or why I was the one chosen to be sitting here, but I am.” Lance lifts his head, meeting Shiro’s eyes. “I gotta bring you back home to us, man.”

Shiro takes a deep breath before he darts his eyes away from Lance’s. His entire body looks far too tense for being a trick of the light, but once again, Lance supposes he can’t say anything about it. He has no idea what’s going on inside his head, and knowing Shiro, he wouldn’t be one to share.

“What if—” Shiro’s face scrunches. He shakes his head, discarding the two words before he retries with, “How do you know this will work?”

Lance blinks, mouth falling open. It’s a good question but it’s one he isn’t ready for.

“I—I don’t know,” he says back dumbly. “We’re still figuring out the details, but…” Lance looks to the left, lips pursing. The last time he saw Shiro, he brought messages back for the team, along with the Evermore. He huffs. “If I could bring a notepad to and from the astral plane, doing the same with someone’s quintessence can’t be _that_ hard.” 

A quiet laugh comes from Shiro and takes a hold of Lance’s attention. It’s a weak sound accompanied by shaking shoulders and trembling lips, and he sounds like he’s on the edge of going mad, but there’s joy sprouting behind it. Disbelief as well, but mostly joy.

Worry doesn’t ease out of Lance’s body. He’s is still wound tight from the tension of their almost-argument, but Shiro’s nearly doubling over and he’s clutching at his stomach as the laughter grows louder and louder, and before he knows it, Lance’s own chuckles filter in.

He doesn’t know what’s so funny, but he’s starting to wish he did.

“You’re—you’re bringing me back,” Shiro says between his wheezes, face twisting into disbelief. What he says isn’t a question. “Holy shit— _crap_ —you found a way to bring me back.”

A smile cracks across his face and Lance nods his head enthusiastically. Shiro’s in shock right now, and he’s probably not doing much better, but the cloudy tension has dissipated and there’s warmth all around Lance now. It almost feels like he’s just not realizing what’s happening, too.

Shiro is coming back home.

“I am,” Lance breathes. The smile on his face causes his cheeks to ache, but it’s a good feeling. The best feeling he’s had in a while. “I’m bringing you back and—and we’re going to contact Earth. Did I tell you that? We’re going to contact Earth and establish an—an alliance with the Galaxy Garrison once Pidge and Hunk and Bobert get the comms to work.”

Shiro runs his hands down his face. “I’m not even going to ask about Bobert,” he says, and Lance laughs harder. “But that’s—this is good. This is good, Lance. You’re—wow.” Shiro lets out a breathless laugh. “You’re kind of my hero?”

As Lance’s eyes widen and his heart stutters, readying himself to say something cool like, _you don’t have to thank me for anything,_ or _all in a day’s work_ , the space behind Shiro flashes white.

It’s so bright, so startling, Lance jumps. His eyes squeeze shut.

When he opens them, Shiro’s gone.

The astral plane has been replaced by a window looking out to warm-colored treetops.

There are two pairs of eyes looking at him instead of just one.

Lance blinks once, twice, before a confused noise slips out of him.

Wrax and Allura jump backward, their own eyes wide as they continue staring at him with interest. Lance finds himself frowning and he rubs his eyes slowly. He takes note of the warmth of his hands against his skin and frowns at the tawny brown skin.

He’s back already? He wasn’t even done talking to Shiro! What the hell?

“What…” he mumbles, peeling his eyes away from himself to look up at Wrax and Allura. They share a curious look before stepping closer toward him. Lance shakes his head. “That was—how…?”

“Did you…establish contact with the Black Lion?” Allura asks slowly.

Lance blinks again. “I— _yeah_?” He replies as he runs his fingers through his hair. The strands are damp against his fingertips but other than being a little sweaty, Lance isn’t as exhausted as he was when he woke up in the hospital yesterday. He counts that as a plus. “I did…I talked to them and—Shiro. Talked to Shiro for a lot longer than the Black Lion, actually.”

“Wait—you spoke to the Black Paladin?” Wrax asks as they grab the sides of Lance’s arms. They drag him up from his spot on the floor to stand, holding him tightly as his legs wobble. “You—you already found him?”

Pulling himself away from Wrax, Lance stumbles before he dusts the sides of his armor off. His mind is still reeling, and he thinks back on the conversation he had with Shiro just seconds before. He doesn’t know how long he was out, but it feels like he was just—imagining things, sort of? Like he closed his eyes and got really lost in thought for a few moments.

“Why’re you asking it like that?” He asks, frowning. “Isn’t that what you wanted me to do?”

Wrax straightens their back and they quickly nod their head. “It was,” they reply, shock still evident in the way they speak. At least it’s better than the monotonous tone they usually have. “I just never expected it to happen so…quickly.”

Allura tilts her head to the side. “Perhaps it’s because his mind is getting used to it,” she offers, glancing over toward Wrax. Wrax strokes their chin, lips dipping out into a pout. “He _is_ a Paladin, you know. The Quintessence he acquires is much stronger than the average living things.”

Lance breathes out a tiny laugh. “I think the Black Lion helped out more than you think,” he admits, kicking his boot against the tile. “They helped guide me to Shiro pretty quick. Uh, and I told him the news, by the way. I hope I was supposed to do that—we never really went over the, uh, details…”

A beat passes before Wrax nods their head. “Of course,” Wrax says back, drawling out their words. “I’m a little—confused, is all. We’ve skipped many of the steps I had to take to learn how to control this ability.”

After placing a hand onto Wrax’s shoulder, Allura grants them a smile, which has Wrax’s entire body nearly slumping. There’s still the dumbfounded curiosity in their eyes, but they don’t say anything else to him and instead, they pull a tablet out of their pocket. They pull at the edges of the device, expanding the screen, and begin jotting down a few words.

“So what now?” Lance asks. “We wait for the clone and when he doesn’t expect it, we cut off his arm and zap Shiro into the body?”

When Wrax pauses in their writing, Lance frowns. Allura shifts the weight on her feet from left to right before he follows Lance’s attention and turns to Wrax. They’re still looking down at the screen before them, but a hesitant look flashes across their face before they breathe out a sigh.

“While you were visiting the Black Paladin, Princess Allura and I skimmed through old Altean alchemy books,” Wrax began as they pocketed their stylist and tablet. “A lot of it is hard to decipher—they’re rough translations founded by various other races after the war had begun, so a great amount of the texts are inaccurate.”

“Okay…” Lance glances at Allura. She presses her brows together “You speak Altean, though. Can’t you just—you know, read the originals?”

Allura drags her hands through the free strands of her hair. “The problem is that there _aren’t_ any originals on Loimia,” she says. “I’m going to have to go through the Castle of Lion’s databases for any copies. I only know as much as they taught in lectures—and I was nowhere near being as talented as my father was in the field.”

Lance swallows and then nods his head. “Okay. We can look for those books then. No big deal.”

Wrax sighs. “I can simply go find them—”

“No.” Allura shakes her head firmly. Wrax shuts their mouth. “I will not allow you to further exhaust yourself for this cause. After that stunt you pulled yesterday—”

“Princess, please.” Wrax pinches the bridge of their nose. “It was imperative for the mission, just as this specific knowledge of Altean alchemy is—”

“You nearly killed yourself to make sure Lance woke up faster,” Allura says, glaring up towards the Eminence. Lance’s lips twist into a frown and he looks over to Wrax, who’s carefully avoiding his gaze. “I appreciate all of the help you are giving us, but if what your vision says is true, then Loimia needs its leader.”

Wrax opens their mouth before huffing out a sigh. Shaking their head, almost regretfully, they turn their attention back to Lance. It’s weird to see how someone can age so much in just a few seconds. Wrax looks more tired than they had yesterday and the ten-thousand years of living has never been more evident than it is now.

“You saved me yesterday?” Lance asks, voice soft. “When—there was still a chance we wouldn’t help you after what happened with the Evermore? How?”

Raising their hand, Wrax silences Lance. He never knew that a move like that could look so humble, but the way they hold themselves only makes Lance want to grab them and demand a solid reason for their actions. Though, if he did that, they’d probably crumble to a pile of bones, dust, and feathers.

“Unimportant,” they clarify. “But I will respect your wishes…and the doctor’s.”

He can’t stop the laugh that bubbles out of him. “Wow,” Lance says as he rubs his eyes. “Okay. I don’t even—it’s been a crazy couple of days.”

Wrax’s lips twist into a crooked smile. They look as if they’re about to speak, but before they can open their mouth, the tablet tucked into the pockets of their pants dings. After pulling it out, Wrax’s face lights up and they glance up to both him and Allura with an apologetic smile.

“I suppose this is a natural stopping point for the meeting.” Wrax looks over toward the exit of the room and a second later, the doors open. Satha is standing in the entryway along with another guard, both of their eyes trained on Wrax. Wrax glances back toward Allura and Lance. “You’ve both exceeded my expectations this morning,” they add with a kinder smile. “I’m immensely proud of the work you’ve both done to ensure your team and my home’s wellbeing. If your human-schedule is clear, feel free to tour the castle grounds while I am away. Make yourselves at home, please.”

Lance’s chest warms and he smiles back. “As nice as that sounds, your majesty, my afternoon is filled.”

Wrax cocks their head to the side but their smile never wavers. “Perhaps another time, then,” they say back before offering a gentle nod as a goodbye as Satha and the other guard approach the three.

“Take the Eminence to their next affair,” Satha orders the guard next to her.

The other guard nods his head and takes off with Wrax without another word. Before Wrax steps out of the room, they turn back and offer a quick wave. Allura and Lance return it, both smiling as Wrax and the guard begin the journey to their next appointment.

It takes a second for Satha to turn back to he and Allura, but there’s no missing the softness on her face, which hardens into a more neutral look once she meets their gazes. Lance’s stomach twists as she moves her focus on to him. Her black eyes really do swallow him whole.

“I’ll escort the two of you back to your vehicle,” Satha says smoothly as she looks over to Allura. “I hope this is all right?”

Allura nods her head. “Of course,” she replies. “Thank you.”

Satha moves behind them and quickly ushers them out of the empty room without letting them have a single glance back as a goodbye, and before they know it, they’re back at the entrance of the palace.

The chilly wind brushes through Lance’s curls, the fresh air smelling sweet. Closing his eyes, he considers taking up Wrax’s offer to tour the castle’s grounds at some point—everything feels so perfect on Loimia, and not even in that creepy way you’d see in movies. He remembers the rude Loimian who nearly fought Keith, how far out of the main city the homes are being rebuilt and the casual attitude of the cashier at the smoothie place from yesterday. It feels real here, and despite the fact it’s not anything new to him, it’s…

Tranquil, almost. Cozy.

He opens his eyes to see Satha watching him. Allura is giving directions to the driver a few feet away, pointing toward the Castle of Lions in the distance. There’s interest across Satha’s features that should make him wonder what she’s thinking of, but he doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t need to.

The series of Satha’s robotic voices lapsing over each other echoes in his head. “How are you feeling, Lance?” she asks calmly.

Lance holds her gaze, unblinking.

“Good,” he replies after a beat. His voice is light like he’s without a care in the world. “I am feeling…good.”

 

>>>

 

The rest of Lance’s morning, up until his scheduled block with Keith, is blurry.

So as he’s standing on the training deck with Keith, still in full armor and holding his Bayard, he doesn’t truly realize he’s blinking into consciousness until he’s thinking about it. Maybe it’s the drop he gets once his meds wear off, or the fact he’s getting used to having a close-to-normal sleep schedule, but for some reason, Lance can’t remember how he got here.

That sounds more philosophical than intended. He means how he got into the training room with Keith, not how he began existing in the first place. It’s way too early for thoughts like that to bother him. His body feels sluggish and he isn’t even tired. He’s just...cozy.

In front of him, Keith stretches his shoulders, glaring down at the floor like it insulted his Lion. Lance copies his stretches, relishing in the pulling of his tight muscles. His body is still aching from their competition a few hours ago, but another workout wouldn’t hurt. His abuela always told him that the best way to cure a hangover was to drink more, so he figures that flawed logic can transfer over to exercising, because why shouldn’t it?

He isn’t fatigued, at least. Plus, Keith’ll go easy on him. In the beginning.

“You haven’t seen it since you first got it, right?”

Lance peels his eyes away from a spot on the wall and he looks down to the Bayard he clutches in his hand. His eyes trail along the white and blue curves and for a brief moment, he wonders if he should be practicing with the Black Bayard instead of this one. Forcing the thought away, Lance takes a steady breath before he nods his head. “Yeah,” he drawls out, hoping the boredom taking place in his tone doesn’t offend Keith. “I’ve been a little occupied. You know, with the coma and astral projecting.”

“Sounds like just another Thursday for you,” Keith replies, equally as dry.

As he tightens his grip on his Bayard, Lance scoffs at his comment. He doesn’t say anything back but instead watches the flash of light consume his hand. The particles pulling apart in his grasp morph into the grip of his broadsword and as the light dies out, the blade shoots up from the hilt, glinting menacingly underneath the fluorescent lights.

Okay. Lance has to admit it—the sword looks pretty sick. Even though he prefers his gun, he could get used to swinging this thing around. It’s not like he’ll have to use it all the time, anyway. It’s like Allura had said yesterday—it’s a good idea for him to be well versed in both offense and defense. He’ll never know when he has to switch up his fighting style. It’s not every day someone brings an Altean broadsword to a lasergun fight.

“We should work on perfecting your stance first,” Keith says, eyes drifting down to Lance’s legs. “You’re standing too stiffly.”

Lance looks up from the sword and glares in Keith’s direction. “How _else_ am I supposed to stand?”

“Not like that,” Keith responds as his gaze flicks up once again.

After he takes a deep breath, Keith’s face contorts into something tight, and for a moment Lance thinks he’s growing frustrated with him. They’ve barely been at it for five minutes and it’s getting hard for Keith to deal with him—what gives? Lance doesn’t have time to speak because Keith steps forward, brushing past him and then circling around his back.

He’s unable to stop his muscles from growing taut as Keith brushes past him, stalking around him and rubbing this chin with his thumb as if he’s an art critic. Lance cranes his neck, eyes following his movement, watching helplessly as he’s silently judged.

“Uh, so…” Lance clears his throat. “What’s the verdict?”

Keith glances at him through his bangs. “You’re right-handed, right?” He asks as he approaches his side. Lance nods his head. “Okay, so you’re going to want to use your right hand to grip the hilt, up toward the cross guard—good. And use your left hand to hold underneath it.”

Lance follows his directions, narrowing his eyes down at his gloved hands. His Bayard feels a lot more comfortable in his hands this time around—he should’ve realized before that using one hand for a sword this large wouldn’t be the best idea. No wonder his arm ached after training that day.

Glancing over to Keith, Lance raises his eyebrows expectantly.

“Much less heavy now, isn’t it?”

“Whatever, Mullet. Continue on with the lesson before I get bored and bail.”

With a snicker, Keith prods at the fingers on Lance’s left hand. “Use your pinkie, ring and middle fingers to keep the grip tight,” he orders as he crosses his arms. “You don’t want to use your dominant hand to strike an enemy, so keep the other fingers semi-tight. Uh…think of your right-hand as a stabilizer and your left as the steering wheel.”

After fumbling for a moment, Lance readjusts his hands on the grip. He turns to Keith. “Like this?”

Keith hesitates. “Make sure the end of the hilt is above your belly button. Bend your arms—no, push them out a little bit more but keep your elbows bent.”

Lance scowls at him. “Make up your mind.”

Keith rolls his eyes. “Shut up. You got it now,” he says, shifting his weight on to his opposite foot as he eyes Lance. “Okay, so now that you’re actually holding the sword correctly, how does it feel?”

Shuffling his feet, Lance flexes his wrists and rolls his neck. The weight of Keith’s gaze on him brings a substantial discomfort churning inside of him, but in a weird way, he relishes in the way his stomach flips. The attention is awkward—being seen in general is just mortifying—but there’s always been something different about the way he feels when Keith looks at him.

He’s not melting under his gaze, but his skin does burn on the spots Keith’s eyes linger.

Forcing himself to swallow—not gulp, thank you very much—Lance offers him a shrug of his shoulders. “It’s fine, I guess?” He glances over at him. “I’m gonna have to get used to the size, though.”

Keith presses his lips together. “Yep. That’s, uh—natural for someone who’s never…used one before.”

Lance raises his eyebrows. When Keith doesn’t say anything else, Lance peels his eyes away from the unreadable twist of his expression and instead focuses his attention on the sword in his hands. After squeezing the grip, he straightens out his arms, pushing the blade out the furthest it can reach without straining any of his muscles. Does him having a longer sword give him the advantage in a fight, or does it get in the way of things?

“You know, now that I’ve got a good feel of it, I think it’s going to be pretty hard to lug this thing around?” Lance frowns before dropping his arms into the position Keith had set them in prior. The sword is lighter than his rifle, but the fact he’s holding it differently makes a world of changes. “Yours is probably so much easier to work with. Uh…you know, other than the whole issue you have with how you have to handle it.”

The blade Keith carries around with him can shift between the form of a dagger and a sword, though. Isn’t that convenient for him? If Lance’s Bayard could do that, he’d feel much more secure fighting offense. If he could move quickly and _then_ whip out the sword, he thinks he’d like this way of fighting more. Although, he guesses fighting with swords and knives are different in some ways. Having a weapon like one of those requires extra work Lance really isn’t willing to put into training.

“Mines just so much longer?”

“Oh my God,” Keith mutters feebly.

At the sound of his voice, Lance pauses. He tugs his eyes away from the broadsword and glances over to Keith, opening his mouth to ask what’s up, but then he sees his face.

The skin on Keith’s cheeks is splotched a vibrant red and the color creeps across his nose and up to the tips of his ears. Despite the blush rising high on his cheeks, his eyebrows are furrowed, pressing low on his face, and winding his expression into a sad attempt at a scowl. His lips twist as if he’s trying to conceal laughter—either genuine or uncomfortable, Lance isn’t quite sure.

His arms drop and a frown pulls on Lance’s lips. “What—are you okay?” He asks as he peers closer to Keith’s face. There’s no reason for him to be dragging his eyes across the burning skin there other than for his own personal reasons, but the look in Keith’s eyes is too hard to read with the way he’s scrunching his face. “Keith? Did you get sick or something? ‘Cause, no offense, but if you’re contagious then I don’t wanna be near you.”

Keith’s eye twitches. “Are you _joking_?”

Lance looks to the side before meeting Keith’s eyes again. “Uh. No?” He cocks his head to the side. “I don’t know what diseases are out here, dude! If someone has to take the hit for the team space-flu wise, it’s gonna be the already-infected.”

After stares at Lance for a second, Keith throws his hands up to his face. His groan is muffled by his gloved hands, but it’s still loud enough for Lance to hear. Lance purses his lips, eyes darting around the room as Keith drags his hands down his face.

He arches an eyebrow after Keith’s finished his dramatics. “…Do I need to take you to a cryopod or something?”

“You’re serious. Oh my God.” Keith pinches the bridge of his nose and inhales a deep breath. When his hand drops away from his face for the second time in fifteen ticks, Keith looks up at the ceiling like he’s begging God for mercy and then finally meets Lance’s eyes again. His cheeks still hold the rosy flush to them. “You know what? Nevermind. Let’s just continue.”

Lance chuckles. “O-kay,” he drawls out as he knits his eyebrows together. “Moving on.” He looks back down to the sword in his hands. “So…are you gonna teach me how to use this thing, or will I have to do the work all by myself as usual?”

A loud snort tears its way out of Keith. Lance whips his head around, his jaw dropping as one of Keith’s hands curls around his mouth and the other around his stomach. He’s hunched over, shoulders shaking as he _wheezes_ with laughter. His entire face has turned bright red at this point, but Lance barely notices the look of pure delight spread across his face as Keith howls with laughter. He’s stunned into silence and he has no idea what Keith finds so funny, but he can safely say he’s _never_ heard him laugh this much or this hard in the years he’s known him.

And, shit, his laugh is so ugly. Lance might be a little bit in love.

“Dude,” Lance chuckles weakly, “are you good? Should I call for help?”

Keith shakes his head, waving his hand in front of his face as he gasps for air. Lance can’t help but grin at the tears collecting in the corners of his eyes. Even though literally _nothing_ funny happened, Keith’s losing his shit, and Lance is totally here for it. He has one of those laughs that’s so funny you have to laugh right along with him.

“I’m—it’s—it’s—” As Keith gasps for air, his wheezing cackles grow quiet as he loses his breath. His entire body shakes with his silent laughter and Lance honestly thinks if he didn’t see Keith break down laughing, he’d be worried he was having a seizure or dying or _something_.

“Dude?” Lance asks again through his own giggles. His Bayard dissolves back into its holster so Lance can reach out and grab the sides of Keith’s arms to stabilize him. “You seriously have to breathe or else you’re gonna faint.”

Keith sucks in another deep breath and holds it in his mouth so his cheeks are puffing out. His laughter seems to have come to a stop…until he glances up at Lance. As soon as their eyes meet, the air caught in Keith’s mouth forces its way through his lips, sending specks of spit flying onto Lance’s face.

As he sputters and wipes the saliva from his skin, Keith falls into another round of uncontrollable laughter. At least this time he wheezes out apologies for spitting on Lance. His head falls against Lance’s shoulder, face pressing against the armor as his torso vibrates as he cackles. Lance instinctively wraps his arms around his back, laughing quietly alongside Keith despite not knowing what the hell is going on.

It takes a while for Keith’s laugher to officially die out. Every few moments, he’ll snicker and mutter something Lance can’t make out, but the worst/best of the hysteria fades and Keith eventually falls mostly quiet.

Lance pulls away and grabs the side of Keith’s arms, arching an eyebrow as Keith’s lips curl.

“Not that that wasn’t the funniest thing I’ve experienced in my entire life, but can I ask what the heck just happened?” Lance tilts his head to the side to get a better look at Keith’s face. “At first, I thought you were like, on the verge of death. And then you started _dying_. Your face was so red, dude.”

Keith groans, voice hoarse. “Did you really not hear yourself?” He asks, weak chuckles slipping past his lips.

Lance pouts. “Hear myself? What’d I say that was so funny?”

That earns Lance a flat look. “You—oh my God. I can’t even—” Keith shakes his head, face growing redder but even more pleased than before. “You’re the worst. You make dick jokes and don’t even notice it.”

Lance’s eyes widen and his mouth falls open. “I—what?! What did I say?”

Keith shakes his head again. “No way I’m telling you,” he says. “We have thirty minutes left of training and the next block is filled up. You can’t trick me into wasting any more time.”

Sputtering, Lance gives Keith a weak shove. Keith snickers as he stumbles backward and Lance ignores the sound, opting to pout instead.

Unfortunately, Keith doesn’t seem to care for his dramatics, and he reaches to the holster on the side of his thigh and pulls out his Bayard. After it shifts into his sword, he raises his eyebrows at Lance and points at him with his blade. “Come on, get your sword out,” Keith calls out. “I told you I was going to kick your ass, didn’t I?”

Lance’s Bayard materializes his broadsword in his hands, and he wraps his hands around the grip just as Keith told him too. Keith’s knees are bent like he’s ready to pounce at any second, so Lance mimics the pose with a small pout.

“This is unfair,” Lance grumbles as Keith slowly begins to step to his right. Lance follows his movement, making sure he’s always in front of him. “You haven’t even shown me how to fight!”

Keith shakes his head and then blows away the bangs that fall into his eyes. “The best way to learn how to swim is to be thrown into the deep end, isn’t it?” Keith asks as he adjusts his grip on his Bayard.

Lance rolls his eyes. “Maybe if you were raised by maniacs.”

Across from him, Keith snickers. “You know how to hold a sword and you know how to swing your arm, don’t you? That seems pretty fair to me.”

“Has anyone ever called you an asshole?”

Keith darts forward and Lance stumbles backward.

With a quick slash of his arm, Keith’s sword’s swings forward. Lance yelps as the tip grazes his breastplate. He knows Keith’s going to be controlling his strikes, but that doesn’t stop the spike of fear sprouting inside of Lance’s gut.

“A few times, yeah,” Keith answers as he takes a step backward. “Are you ever going to attack me? The whole point of this is learning to fight offense, you know.”

Lance huffs. “If I knew how to, maybe I would! It’s not my fault you’re as quick on your feet. I need some time to come up with a plan of attack.”

“Bad idea, actually,” Keith says as he charges.

This time, when Keith moves in for the hit, Lance knows better than to jump away. Like he was thinking before, the length of his sword can both be good and inconvenient during a fight. Keith’s Bayard is much shorter than his, so he has to get closer for his attack to land. But since Lance has a broadsword, he can easily deflect incoming hits _and_ attempt his own as well. 

Their swords clash together, the loud clang of metal hitting metal oddly satisfying to his ears. Lance grins as he pushes his weight against the sword, making Keith’s heels scrape against the floor before they give up and he’s forced to stumble backwards from the force. 

“Why’s that?” Lance asks after taking a deep breath. His chest heaves but he readies his Bayard once again. There’s no way he’s backing down now, not when Keith’s actually giving him good tips. “Worried that I’m gonna knock you to your knees?”

“Not at all,” Keith says back, flexing his wrist. He doesn’t charge again but instead, he moves to the side, taking calculated steps as he circles Lance. “You don’t want to be predictable when you’re fighting. The element of surprise is on your side.”

Lance narrows his eyes, watching Keith’s feet and trying to keep an ear open for him.

He takes three steps forward in a swift movement and Lance steps forward just a beat after Keith does, nodding his head slowly. “Makes sense that you’re considered the impulsive one, then,” he says back, grinning when Keith scoffs at him. “What are you waiting for, Mullet?”

The smile that spreads across Keith’s face is far too innocent for his liking and Lance hates himself but he hesitates and nearly drops his sword at the sight. It’s not because it’s Keith’s smile, _okay_ , he’s not _that_ weak—he just didn’t expect to see something so… _sweet_ in a moment like this. That was his first mistake.

Before Lance can shake off the distraction, Keith’s in front of him, sword raised into the air and ready to come down for a strike. He has enough time to raise his Bayard to deflect the hit, but as a reflex, Lance’s eyes close. He flinches.

Taking his eyes off of Keith was his second mistake.

Keith’s boot nails him directly in the chest and he’s kicked to the floor.

The grip he had around his Bayard falls slack and the broadsword clutters to the ground as Lance yelps and falls backward. Eyes finding the ceiling, he sucks in a quick breath and throws his arm to the side, blindly grabbing for his sword. He ignores the ache in his chest but when he can’t reach his Bayard, a groan slips out and he moves to sit up, shifting uncomfortably as he leans on his forearms.

His movement is halted by a sharp point pressing against the underside of his chin.

Lance’s eyes trail up the red and white blade, inching past the strong arms clad in the same colored armor. Heart skipping a beat, his wide-eyed gaze falls on to Keith’s own and Lance’s breath hitches. Keith’s hair is sweaty and it plasters to his forehead in wild waves. His chest rises and falls heavily, his breathing labored from the teasing they had danced around each other with, and Lance is dizzy at the sight.

But the smirk on his face is its own kind of deadly.

As Lance gulps, his Adam’s apple hits the tip of the blade. He blinks owlishly at Keith’s body standing over his, unable to move or speak under his eyes.

“You should learn how to stop flinching,” Keith breathes, eyes flicking across Lance’s.

He nods his head.“Yeah,” he rasps out, not really listening as his gaze follows a bead of sweat slipping down the soft curve of his nose to the crease of his lips. 

The atmosphere between them grows thicker every moment Keith doesn’t pull his sword away and offer Lance a hand up. But with the way his eyes drag across Lance’s face, down past his chin to his scratched breastplate as if he’s trapped in the same sort of trance Lance is in himself, Lance can’t say that he cares. Especially when Keith’s looking at him like _that_.

But then Keith blinks, clarity finding him far easier than it finds Lance. The haze leaves and Keith furrows his eyebrows before allowing his Bayard to dissolve into safety mode. After it’s back in its holster, Keith reaches his hand out and helps pull Lance back up to his feet.

It’s harder for Lance to snap back into reality. His stomach is fluttering and even though his arms and chest aches, his heartbeat is the most intense thing he’s feeling right now. The grip Keith has on his hand—the one he’s still holding, even though Lance is on his feet—has blood rushing through his ears. His eyes flick back and forth between Keith’s. He’d be embarrassed for it if Keith’s eyes weren’t as concentrated as his, but Lance swears that there’s— _something_ passing through them.

Something that looks a lot like what Lance has been feeling.

“You did pretty good for your first time,” Keith says, his voice gruff. His face contorts into a weird expression. “First time fighting, I mean.”

At his words, Lance manages an appreciative smile. “Maybe you had a point about being tossed into the deep end.” He says back. It’s hard to hear himself through the thundering of his pulse.

”Why do you sound surprised?” Keith questions as he brushes his bangs out of his face with his right hand. The smile curling on his lips looks shy but the confidence in his gaze assures Lance he’s anything but. “I’d like to think I’m pretty good with swords.”

Before he can stop himself, Lance’s own smile shifts into something much less platonic.“Is that what you tell all the other pretty boys you spar with?”

Keith’s eyes widen, just a fraction, and if his cheeks weren’t already so pink, Lance would wonder if he’d see them darken. The logical part of his brain is screaming at him, pounding its fists against his skull, demanding to know what the hell he thought he was doing, flirting so openly with Keith like that, but the volume of his insecurities is snuffed out by another soft laugh coming from Keith’ ways.

“Only one of them,” Keith mumbles back, pointedly looking away from Lance’s eyes.

His words don’t have enough time to settle. Lance hears them, registers that Keith might have, somehow, for _some_ _reason_ , flirted back, but there must be a wire loose in his head because he spends four solid seconds staring at Keith with a face he can only describe as blank and horror is beginning to creep up on Keith’s and oh, God, he _needs_ to press himself against his body and _finally_ close that agonizing distance between the two of them, or else he thinks he might—

The doors to the training deck slide open.

Lance and Keith snap their heads toward the intruder and they stumble away from each other, eyes round with panic and cheeks flushed with heat as their gazes fall on Pidge. She’s hunched over, hands on her knees as she sucks in a series of deep breaths. It takes a second, but she finally does look up to meet their gazes. Her glasses are askew and her hair is as wild as the look in her eyes.

“We did it,” she pants, shoulders heaving. Her voice is strained. “The communication device works. Go…go fucking shower and get dressed, Jesus Christ—we have an hour and a half before the hailing transmission arrives at the Galaxy Garrison.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: this chapter was so hard for me to write, I procrastinated the entire month of June and on the 16th of July I sat down for 12 hours and wrote 14k words of this chapter. In one sitting. That entire day was a blur and I genuinely have no memory of it, but hey, at least it got this chapter out of my system and cried a little bit. That’s always important.
> 
> Sorry for taking so long with this chapter, though. I’m not sure how I feel about it, despite the fact I think there’s a chance it’s my best writing so far. I sat in my bed for hours last night thinking that this entire part feels sort of like seeing the behind-the-scenes of an afterschool special. Like...yeah, these are the characters you know, but like. Is it /really/ necessary to see them like this? Unfortunately, yes.
> 
> At least I added extra dumb pining to help ease the blow of a nearly 20k word filler chapter. Also, Shiro. He’s pretty important to the story, too.
> 
> Anyway. I hope this chapter finds you well! I have no idea when the next one will be out, but I’m pretty sure it’s going to be much shorter since it’s… a special chapter. So, be on the lookout for that. It could be in a few weeks or it could be in like, a month. Who knows? Not me.
> 
> Also, everyone should give a big ol’ thanks to my amazing best friend and beta reader, Anna [@lujanne](https://lujanne.tumblr.com)! She not only made sure half of what I wrote while I was possessed by the Writing Spirit was coherent, but she also stayed up with me to listen to everything I hate about my writing and then called me a dumbass and attempted to validate me. Also go give my other best friend, Darcy [@thespacenico](https://thespacenico.tumblr.com), a hug as well; she was also there to listen to me bitch and whine and afterward she then (softly) called me a fool because she doesn’t know what a bad word is. I love them both, but don’t tell them I said that. Or do. They deserve attention.
> 
> I guess I’ll stop boring you with this super long A/N and leave you to do whatever.
> 
> As always, kudos and comments are appreciated. Or, if you wanna send me an ask on Tumblr, I’ll probably get excited and forget how to talk to people for 45 minutes. Either way, interacting with you guys makes me grin like a complete idiot and it’s the literal best part about writing this giant fucking fic (100k words and klance hasn’t happened yet. Who Am I?).
> 
> I hope you enjoyed! Thank you so much for reading, I’ll see you next time!
> 
>  
> 
> \- Cato
> 
>  
> 
> [tumblr](https://ghozting.tumblr.com) | [twitter](https://twitter.com/ghoztings) | [instagram](https://instagram.com/ghozting.art)
> 
>  
> 
> [CHECK OUT THE PLAYLIST WRAX MADE FOR KEITH!](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/0Ok1lXq36UuCVhNgQaa8GL)
> 
>  
> 
> (psst also read the A/N below. not only is there art by kit (which you guys HAVE to rb like,, it is Law) but anna also made a gorgeous edit of shiro and lance from ch3 & if you guys don’t rb it then do you really stan yeehaw 🤔🤔🤔 (anna i love you SO much 🥺))


	8. vii. Whistle in the Dark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Team Voltron establishes a connection with Earth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Potential Triggers in This Chapter:
> 
> \- implications of past suicidal thoughts  
> \- mentions of a plane crash

 

>>>

 

032920XX

 

“How long will it take for the A.I. to wake up?”

Bobert rubs his hands together, expression shifting much like tectonic plates into something eager. He stares out the window of the control room, eyes dripping hot magma behind his outer shell of rock, and he seems to be pondering, almost. The wormhole he had asked Allura to help him open was a small one, but it no doubt caused an effect, and the rest of the Paladins watched him with wary eyes as a small ship piloted through. Despite that, however, Bobert’s attitude never changed, even after his setup of boxy computers and coils of cords went haywire. The flashing red on one of the monitors only seemed to spur on his excitement.

“Not long! Once the UAV has settled in, it’ll only be a press of a button and it’ll secure a channel—”

Eyes squeezing shut, Lance’s head falls back and a groan escapes him. He doesn’t care about the dirty look Pidge sends him or the way Allura has to hold back her own exasperation—his heart had stopped as soon as Pidge broke into the training room and it refused to start beating until after he’d sat underneath the icy shower for fifteen doboshes.

Although he has to admit, there were more reasons as to why the hammering in his chest had stopped. The same reason he had to take a very cold shower.

He almost laughs at the thought but instead, he forces his dramatics away.

Sure, maybe he did need to cool down, but that’s not the point.

The amount of stress weighing on his shoulders is enough to rival the sky on Atlas’s, okay? If he has a chance to cool off, he’ll take it. Even if it was useless in the end, at least the shower was nice. Finding his hair streaked with silver was not, but like he said before, he’s _stressed_. Technically speaking.

“…and after _that_ , it’ll be able to transmit your home planet’s message back to us at incredible speeds. Since you—” Bobert turns to Pidge—“have already hacked the nearest satellite and let me optimize its code—it was horrendous, by the way—their electromagnetic waves will be able to reach the UAV at hyper-speeds.”

“This sounds unnecessarily complicated. Couldn’t we’ve just transmitted morse code or something?” asks Keith.

“Maybe if we were trying to just talk to our families,” Hunk says, fingers pressing against the edges of his chin as he examines the clutter of ancient-looking computer products littering the floor. “But we’re trying to establish an alliance with Earth. It’s not the best way of communicating for something like that. Plus, the language is pretty out of date and we’d have no proof if they got the message or not.”

“Right,” Keith drawls out. “My bad.”

“It’s no problem, dude,” Hunk replies without peeling his eyes away from the gadgets, Keith’s sarcasm unnoticed or uncared for. “This should work, though. We’ve been transmitting nonsense messages to Earth the best we could’ve for months, and this is the closest _anything’s_ gotten to the Milky Way galaxy without bouncing back to us. I’m pretty sure this is going to—”

“Oh, goodness…” Bobert tilts his head to the side as the flashing on his setup stops for a beat. “I think it’s broken.”

“What?!”

Bobert hums and taps one of his fingers against the curved screen. The blinking red resumes as if nothing happened. Nothing else seems to have changed, at least from what Lance’s noticed, but then again, he isn’t as savvy with this sort of equipment. He knows a little more than average, but that’s only because he’s sat in and listened to Pidge and Hunk pick at each other’s brains like they’re infested with lice. Plus, after dragging himself to space, all of that knowledge leaked out of his ear with everything else he thought he knew about the universe. Alien technology was as comprehensible as magic at this point.

“Wait a tick!” Bobert’s lava seems to grow brighter with the tone of his voice. “The UAV has arrived and it’s intact! Jolly good, now all we have to do is…” His voice fades out to mumbles, leaving Hunk and Pidge to inch closer to him and listen in on his rambling.

Lance sighs a shaky breath and rubs his face. He doesn’t exactly feel relieved, but the feeling is something close. At least close enough _._

 _Isn’t this exciting,_ the Blue Lion asks, rumbling purrs soft. He can almost picture her curling up into his lap and coaxing him into a comfortable nap. _You’re so close to talking with your family again._

A small smile makes its way across his face, but it’s too tight to feel genuine. He doesn’t know how, maybe he projected his feelings accidentally, but Blue’s purrs grow louder, reverberating in the back of his mind and melting warmth as thick as molasses over him. It should leave him steadier, but instead, exhaustion pulls at his bones, and there’s a not-so-brief moment where he thinks he’s going to slump against the floor and pass out. If he just closed his eyes, then maybe—

Lance shakes his head in a quick, jerky movement as a weak effort to wake himself up.

 _It is exciting,_ he answers, almost insistently, _I think I might just be in shock, beautiful. Don’t worry._

Something hesitant pushes in the back of his thoughts, hotter than the feeling he’s grown accustomed to. The nervous energy behind it surprises him more than anything, especially with the mix of not confidence, but assurance, but it’s strangely familiar, sort of like déjà vu. He doesn’t know where it’s coming from, but the amusement bubbling from Blue sidetracks his worry and leaves his smile more sincere.

“Alrighty then,” Bobert steps away from the now yellow screens and turns back toward the rest of the team. His gaze trails across them before he approaches Allura with hasty movements. “Your royal highness, the button is relatively simple—it’s just what you use to control the ship. When you’re ready, the channel will open, and instant communication will be feasible between Earth and this Castle. In fact, I have something in the works that’ll offer your teammates a new set of private channels, if they so choose to use them. They’d be crazy not to, don’t you agree? Having only a handful of people on a ship at a time can get quite tiresome—”

“Bobert,” Allura’s smile twitches, along with her right eye, “we greatly appreciate what you and the rest of the royal council have done for us. Please do not hesitate to let me know if there's anything we can do in return.”

The comment must take Bobert by surprise. Steam puffs out of his mouth and he has to pick his jaw off the floor before he straightens his posture. Lance arches a brow as Bobert seems to grow more sheepish. His face is hard to read, all things considered, but Lance thinks body language is universal. Or, at the very least, similar to Human and Altean.

“Well, there is one thing…” Bobert kicks the floor. “You see, Princess, there’s a party later this evening. Today marks a hundred decapheobs since our people got tired of fighting, and I know Voltron is terribly busy and the timing is quite unfortunate, but it’d be a wonderful surprise for everyone if you’d be willing to join us and celebrate the peace and love we’ve found with each other.”

Allura glances over Lance, a silent question in her eyes he doesn’t bother deciphering. Her lips press together to hide a smile. It’s a poor attempt at seeming casual, but he figures Allura deserves every ounce of happiness she feels, so he doesn’t do anything except offer a humble shrug of his shoulders and his own grin. She, as expected, rolls her eyes at him, but the smile finally cracks across her face and she looks back to Bobert.

“It sounds lovely,” Allura replies gently. “We attended a celebration on the last planet we allied with, but it seemed to be a bit much for some of us. I hope one of the Paladins having to take a step away won’t be too…erm, insulting? Especially considering our main task for today...”

Bobert brightens. “Of course not, your royal highness! I’ll have my assistant send your advisor the details. Now if I may excuse myself to give your Paladins privacy, I’ll be on my way.”

Allura nods her head. “Once again, thank you for what you’ve done,” she says as she folds her hand over the bodice of her casual dress. “We’ll keep in touch.”

After everyone else offers their goodbyes to Bobert, Coran leads him out of the room and the door slides shut.

Silence falls over the room as deadly as an avalanche, but even with the stiff atmosphere, Allura breathes out a sigh like the most daunting task of the day has been completed. There’s a relief behind it he didn’t expect to hear from her, and he can’t help but wonder what she’s thinking. Is she curious about Earth or just as eager as the rest of them to find their closure?

She moves to the podium at the front of the room.

“I guess we’re doing this…” Lance mumbles to himself. His eyes follow her, watching attentively as she’s bathed in turquoise lights from the crystal above her. The controls rise from their storage in the floors and her hands hover over the silver globes. “You guys ready?”

“I’ve been ready for months,” Pidge says as she walks over to her console, close to where he’s standing. “Hunk’s right. This is the closest we’ve ever gotten to Earth. Shouldn’t you be crying by now?”

“HA,” Lance forces out as the back of his neck flushes. “You’re a real freakin’ riot, Pidgeon. You know what? New rule. If I cry, you can’t make fun of me.”

Hunk raises an eyebrow. “Does that rule go both ways?”

“No way, I need to cope somehow!”

“If you’re going to have rules they must be applied to everyone,” says Allura as she looks over her shoulder. A pout pulls on his lips but she only gives him a look before continuing, “Are we ready?”

Once the team gives an affirmative response, Allura turns back and presses her hands down on the controls. As she does so, Hunk grabs one of the cords on the ground near the mess Bobert had left and stabs it into a port on his tablet. 

“The UAVs been activated and it’s sending out the hailing. Uh, can you hold—” Hunk says as he taps his fingers against the screen, brows furrowing. After a few seconds, he nods to himself and then adds, “Okay, good, the ship’s established a direct connection to the castle. It should be secure for now.”

Allura removes her hands from the controls and turns around to the rest of the team. Her eyebrows pinch together curiously. “Is it really that easy?”

“Uh, well…” Hunk scratches his cheek, nose wrinkling as he peels his eyes away from the screen in front of him. “Not exactly. It might take some more effort on our part,” he gestures to he and Pidge, “but right now we’re just focused on making sure our message gets to Earth.”

Lance’s eyes flutter shut and he rubs his face, ignoring the tension tightening in his shoulders. “I thought it’d only take, what, two vargas for our transmission to get there? You’re saying we have to wait longer?”

“While you were in the showers, Bobert surprised us,” says Pidge. “When he said he’d offer us some help, I thought maybe he’d just _adjust_ some things to the Castle’s satellite—but he ended up making us a whole _ship_ to filter incoming and outgoing messages for us!”

“Right, right, that’s the—UAV. Okay,” Lance pouts again. He hates tech talk. “So…how long is this gonna take, then?”

Pausing his typing on the tablet, Hunk looks up and offers Lance a small shrug. “Sending the transmission could take a few tries if it gets intercepted by anyone else, but uh, hopefully it won’t come to that.”

He holds back a groan. Waiting isn’t something he’s a fan of and the impatience is already bubbling inside of him, threatening to erupt. Rubbing his face, Lance mumbles an incoherent affirmative and moves away from his spot on the floor, over to his own console. 

Halfway there, his eyes fall on Keith. A small, barely-there smile tugs on Lance’s lips at the stony expression Keith holds as he attempts to burn holes through the floor. For some reason, he looks bitter—maybe a bit apprehensive—as he glances up to meet Lance’s gaze.

There’s a falter in Lance’s steps when Keith doesn’t smile back, and when he gives Lance an acknowledging nod instead of the usual curious look he gets when he finds Lance looking at him, something drops in his chest.

Actually, it feels more like his heart’s been shoved off a cliff with a ball and chain secured around it. His smile slips away almost as easily as it came. What type of reaction was that? Not to be _that guy_ , but he doesn’t get a smile back? Even after what happened earlier? He swallows, and even though he’s unsure of what else to do, Lance nods his head back and continues the former path to his chair.

He’s not going to think too hard about it. He refuses to.

Lance slumps back in his seat and crosses his arms. There’s an electronic pinging coming from the blank screen before the team, soft like the start of a song, and he sighs against the gentle melody.

 _Rest for a moment,_ the Blue Lion says, _it’s okay. Just close your eyes_.

And he doesn’t really want to argue with Blue, so he does.

  


>>>

  


How much longer? There’s no other question to be asked, no other words seeping into the minuscule crevices of his brain other than _how much longer_. It should be a scary thing, how much he feels like he’s gone on autopilot—his eyes are glazed over and his jaw is heavy from the weight of the question stuck to his tongue—but there’s no one to stop it. The five people surrounding him are in a similar state of grief, of sadistic excitement.

He doesn’t think about it that much, but the team’s seen some pretty rough stuff. This waiting game they’re playing with the Galaxy Garrison? It’s somehow worse.

The pinging from the screen raised before them offers only a stab of irritation in his gut each time he hears it now. Hunk’s shuffling isn’t any better, and not only that, but Pidge keeps tapping her feet in intervals that just isn’t _working_ for him. Every noise only sends him deeper and deeper underwater, and even though he knows his friends are just as anxious as he is, his annoyance doesn’t soften, and that just makes him angrier and angrier with each second passing.

The reality of the situation finally settled over him in the course of the last hour.

It’s just—it’s home. He gets to contact _home_. If he’s being honest, he never believed it would be possible. There’s bound to be a little shock with receiving the news, right? It makes sense that his thoughts are complicated, that the feelings tumbling inside of him, over and over and over again, is just like the typical pre-mission jitters. This is a good thing.

This is a _good thing_.

No matter how many times he runs the thought through his head, it doesn’t stick. This doesn’t _feel_ like a good thing. The anticipation isn’t the same as it was before the apex of a rollercoaster. He doesn’t feel like he’s about to barrel roll in the Blue Lion during an intricate battle with some Galra fighters or say something risky to Keith. This type of fear—no, not fear— _suspense_ —is unique to itself.

 _That’s not a bad thing, though_ , he reminds himself somewhere far in the back of his mind, _it’s just different. You_ know _different. Just because it’s different doesn’t mean it’s bad—scary, maybe, but not always bad._

“How long is this going to take?”

Pidge’s eye twitches. “Take what I told you five minutes ago and subtract _five minutes_.”

Lance crosses his arms, uncrosses them, takes a deep breath, and crosses his arms again. The series of actions repeat again and again with the occasional impatient groan thrown into the mix. His dramatics, which is mostly done so he doesn’t have to hear anyone else’s stress, could quite honestly be the most annoying set out of everyone’s, he thinks, but the thought doesn’t make him stop. It’s much better than having to listen to Pidge’s attempt at tapping out The Black Parade with her feet or noticing the still silence coming from where Keith’s standing behind him.

More time passes. They don’t adjust.

As the clock ticks down, people grow more anxious. It’s evident by the lack of fluttering about, how Hunk stands with his chin up, watching the screen in front of him with glass eyes. Pidge still fiddles with her laptop, typing something that can’t be as important as the pending call, but her eyes flick up every few moments and she stares dead ahead with a type of dread that’d make him nervous if he hadn’t seen it in himself by now. Across the room, Allura and Coran talk quietly, voices drowned out by the distance between them and the team. Both of their ears are downturned, like an angry cat’s, but there’s nothing fiery behind their eyes. In fact, as Allura briefly glances up and meets his eyes, all he can see is ash.

A moment passes. The static gradually dies down. Pidge turns her head to him, her eyes wide and glossy like the creepy taxidermy deer’s were at his sister-in-law’s dad’s house. Unsure of what to say to her, or anyone else in the room for that matter, he offers Pidge a firm nod of his head, halfway hoping she’d feel comforted enough to stop looking at him with those dead eyes of hers. Thankfully, Hunk presses his hand against his shoulder, missing the fading bruise just by a few centimeters, and drags his attention away from her.

“Are—” Hunk swallows and his face twists into something tight before he swallows and tries again. “Are you gonna be okay?”

The question bounces off Lance like his Paladin armor works as an emotional wall between them. Lance manages a small smile at Hunk’s concern, but the look across his face doesn’t wipe away. Hunk’s always known him pretty well, and over the last three or four years of their friendship, he’s unfortunately learned how to see past the barriers Lance’s been building up, so his eyebrows knit lower over his piercing eyes. Apparently, his smile wasn’t enough for him.

“I’ll be okay,” Lance promises, but his words come out strung together, as if the syllables are clutching each other, afraid of letting go. He sounds _weak_. Squaring his shoulders and lifting his chin just as Hunk had moments before, Lance smiles wider. “I’ll be okay,” he repeats, surprising himself with the genuine edge of his voice, “I really will! This is just…”

“A lot?”

He breathes out a weak laugh. “Yep. That’s definitely a word for it.”

Hunk squeezes his shoulder. There’s no warmth through the plate of armor, but Lance appreciates the gesture regardless. It’s grounding, in a way. Hunk always knows how to bring him back to Earth when it’s important. Lance offers him another smile, silently expressing his gratitude.

And, then—static.

“ _Voltron_ — _?_ ”

Silence clutches the room by the throat, suffocating Lance and everyone surrounding him. The screen ahead of the team is still unlit, cut-off sounds crackling through the speakers…alongside someone’s perplexed mumbling.

Lance’s mouth falls open, despite himself. 

They should move forward. There should be cheers, hugs, _high-fives_ — but no one moves. No one dares to speak. A part of Lance wonders if someone, somehow, intercepted their transmission—that’d be possible, right? Their original hailing message was just _code_. Earth doesn’t have the technology to answer them directly, not like the more technologically advanced planets that are a part of the Coalition.

And yet, for some reason, he finds himself holding out hope. The blossoming in between his ribs makes him feel two years younger, and the thought almost makes him laugh hysterically. That’s not something he thought he’d think this early in life, but then again, this could be the oldest he gets out here.

Another pop of static filters through the speakers. “ _Do you … me …”_ says the unidentified voice. “ _Ah, shoot, let me — alaxy Garrison … do you copy? Over.”_

“Galaxy—” Lance’s voice cuts out—practically dies in his throat—and he’s forced to clear his throat. “Galaxy Garrison, this is Lance McClain, the Blue Paladin, we copy, over.”

There’s only static. His heart punches his chest with each beat it takes, bruising him worse than the recoil from his Bayard ever could. He wonders if he’d even be able to hear a reply over the incessant begging and futile prayers coiling in the inside of his skull. But—he totally would, right? He isn’t that deep within himself.

Nails digging into the fabric of his gloves, Lance shakes the thought off. He then takes a deep breath and opens his mouth once more. “Galaxy Garrison, this is Lance McClain, the temporary leader of Voltron, we copy, over.”

_“…roger that. Please stand by, over.”_

His entire body deflates—at least as much as it can. The tension in the air holds him up like a marionette, keeping his back rigid, shoulders tight, and arms loose. But even then, hearing the vague response is better than hearing nothing at all.

Before he can do anything else, Hunk is stepping away from his side, moving back to his commander’s chair. Pidge scrambles after him with the same urgency Hunk had in his steps. He pulls out a holographic blue screen and frantically types and slides his fingers across something that looks like a volume mixer.

“You think we’re going to need visuals on?” Pidge asks as she adjusts her glasses.

Hunk shrugs his shoulder. “I don’t think it’d hurt,” he mumbles back, eyebrows creased with concentration. “If the Galaxy Garrison responded to us with a real-time radio signal, either Earth has advanced like crazy in the time we’ve been gone or…” His hand pauses. As Pidge’s eyes narrow, Hunk shakes his head. Forces the thought they were all thinking away. “It won’t hurt.”

It doesn’t take long for Hunk to finish toying with the screen. The satisfaction on his face cuts through the tension in the room, and while it doesn’t dissipate entirely, there’s a much-appreciated difference. Stale, artificial oxygen never tasted so sweet. As Hunk pushes himself out of his chair, the floor buzzes with the sheer sound of something rustling from the speakers.

When Lance turns his attention away from Hunk’s now confusingly blank expression, his eyes fall on a human being that isn’t one of the other six he’s seen in the last year and a half—and, yet, the face is eerily familiar.

Dirty blonde hair tied into a low ponytail. Amber eyes without a spark. A round, pale face—left cheek marked with a thin scar. Matt Holt stands before the team, along with two unrecognizable aliens. It’d be impossible to _not_ immediately recognize who it is, not when Lance personally has had to drag Pidge away from her research of the Empire’s prisons in the dead of night.

Matt looks just as surprised to see them, though, so the silence that’s fallen over the call isn’t as awkward as it could’ve been. His eyes flick across the team, movement sporadic. Unkempt eyebrows twitch low as he quickly blinks, almost as if he wonders if he’s seeing things right. After his mouth falls open, a weird, choked laugh slips out.

“The Paladins of Voltron…” awes Matt. He sounds disbelieving. “I heard stories from the other Rebels, but I never actually—and you’re _human_? How the—” his voice cut off as his eyes fall on to the spot next to Lance and Matt’s expression hardens and smooths itself out before twisting into something indescribable. “…Katie?”

Pidge swallows. Her eyes are red, shinier than he’s ever seen them in the time he’s known her. His chest clenches as Lance watches her Adam’s apple up and down the column of her throat again. She breathes out a weak huff through her nose and her entire body trembles at the force.

“I’ve been looking for you and—and Dad _everywhere_ .” Pidge’s hands clench into shaking fists at her sides. “I hacked the computers, snuck into the Garrison under an alias, _went to space_ , and you—you’re alive. You’re really _here_.”

The aliens standing next to Matt shift uncomfortably, both turning their heads to look at his face. There’s only a tragic smile curling on his lips, and in a way, a happiness that tacks on to the grief behind his eyes. Lance watches something come alive inside of Matt that wasn’t there before.

“When I came back and Mom told me you and two other students were missing, I didn’t…” Matt shakes his head as a tear slips out from his eyes. An alien standing next to him, clad in full-body armor—or, they’re maybe even possibly a droid—uses her thumb to wipe it away. Matt places his hand over hers and lets them intertwine before dropping out of frame. He collects himself with a shaky inhale, and then continues, “…we expected the worst. But you—you’re with _Voltron_?”

Pidge sniffles, but she nods. “I—yeah, we’re all Paladins. This isn’t…” a tight look spreads across her face and Lance’s shoulders fall at the misery clouding around her. “I just—I have so many questions—but we have official business we need to get out of the way—but I just—”

Matt sighs. “We have time to catch up later. I’m sure there’s an important reason for you to be contacting Earth.”

It takes Lance a second to realize everyone’s now looking at him. His eyes widen, just a fraction, and he coughs into his fist and forces himself to blink away his own set of tears collecting in his eyes. Pidge is right, they have to work before they get to play, no matter how much excitement is buzzing underneath his skin.

“It’s been a while since we’ve spoken to other humans.” Lance rubs the back of his neck, forcing out a chuckle. He sounds nervous, more nervous than he thought he would be. “Us finding a way to communicate with the Galaxy Garrison and Earth was uh, more of a way for us to pass the time. Pretty sure a lot of it was trial and error, and like...a _ton_ of hope, but it working out was…a nice surprise.”

Next to him, Pidge laughs as she scrubs her cheeks. Hunk pats her back as a light smile stretches across his face.

“But, uh,” Lance faces Matt and the other rebel soldiers on the screen, eyes briefly darting to the group of humans standing behind the trio before he shakes their distracting murmuring off, “the Galra Empire already got close to colonizing Earth when they found you and…and the rest of the crew during the Kerberos mission. Earth is lacking in power to fight back, so.”

“Adding your home planet to the Voltron Coalition would ensure your safety.” Allura steps forward from her spot out of frame, eyebrows low on her face. There’s a sour look in her eyes that melts when Lance steps to the side, giving her room with the rest of the Paladins on the floor. “We have a handful of planets who would willingly aid humanity if Voltron cannot.”

Lance nods his head. “Plus, Galra soldiers _have_ already been on Earth, way before the Paladins of New were gathered together,” he adds, crossing his arms as he glares at the floor. “If the Blades hadn’t intercepted and stopped them from contacting Zarkon, who _knows_ what would’ve happened…”

The room grows quiet.

Lance glances up, frowning. “What?” 

“What do you mean, _what_ ? What are _you_ talking about?” Hunk asks, frowning. The spark Lance knows well is lit in his eyes, and for some reason, Lance thinks he shouldn’t have said anything.

“I—what do you mean?” He asks, tilting his head to the side. Lance thought he was being pretty understandable with what he had said. “I said the Galra have been to Earth and the Blades…they…”

Lance’s face scrunches as his train of thought grows cloudy. What _was_ he talking about? How was he supposed to know whether or not the Galra have been to Earth, let alone the Blades of Marmora? They’re more secretive than literally anyone else in the Universe. Although, Keith _does_ have Galra genes, so it’s not he was _inaccurate_.

The weirdest part of it is the fact Lance knows what he said is completely true.

“How…did you get this information?”

He looks back to the screen and meets Matt’s eyes before Lance’s own fall back to the floor. Something gnaws against his skull, so acute that Lance’s flutter shut, and he presses his fingertips against his temples in hopes to soothe the sudden tenderness. The headache is, of course, familiar in a way that only injects an odd mixture of dread and annoyance into his system. It’s the same sort of feeling he gets when before he’s plucked from his body like an ingrown hair and thrown into one of his weird dreams.

“Lance?” Allura peers closer to him, eyes growing concerned. “Are you all right?”

“I, uh…” His brain pounds against his skull. “…uh…”

“Maybe you should go lay down.”

Another stab of annoyance sends an ugly feeling trickling out of him. He’s never been one to get irritated this quickly—especially not to Allura when she’s expressing worry. Maybe it’s the thought of her sending him away that sucks more than anything. They’re in the beginnings of a meeting with the Galaxy Garrison right now, and he’s supposed to be the one leading it. He can’t just leave the team because of a headache.

“No—no, I don’t need any more rest.” A meager laugh breaks out of his chest as Lance shakes his head. Lance lifts his gaze and meets Allura’s eyes with a tight-lipped smile. “Trust me, I’m more than ready to get this show on the road.”

With hesitance, Matt nods his head, seemingly as eager as Lance to push whatever just happened aside. He’s thankful for the new direction—there’s no way he could even begin to explain what he said or how he knew it without confusing everyone in the room more. Lance makes a mental note to ask Wrax about it whenever he sees them next. Maybe they can miraculously put his complicated thoughts into words.

“All righty, then…” Matt says, glancing at Lance with a curious expression that reminds him of Pidge. “Having Voltron in Earth’s corner would be a major benefit to humanity. I know that the rest of the Rebels and I have helped a bit by expanding the knowledge of extraterrestrial life and, by extension, their cultures, and sciences. It’s amazing how far we’ve come in the last five months. Not only have we learned more, but Humans have become…far more accepting.”

Lance manages a weak grin. “So…getting the United Nations and the Galaxy Garrison to ally with the Coalition won’t be difficult?”

Matt’s face twists into something weird. “I sure hope it isn’t,” he says back, which isn’t comforting whatsoever. “It took a while to go over the terms for the UN and the Galaxy Garrison to join the rebellion. We had to bring out some higher-ups and that took quite a bit of time—there’s only so much a few scrapped and, uh, _borrowed_ ships can do, you know?”

Great. Lance breathes out a sigh, shoulders sagging along with the rest of his body. Of _course_ the Earth is full of superstitious dummies, why is he surprised? It probably took _months_ for the rebel leaders to get to Earth—even longer if they got attacked by stray Galra fighters along the way. Getting the planet to ally with Earth isn’t going to be an easy task.

“But, hey!” Matt interrupts his train of thought with the level of enthusiasm in his tone. “That just gives you guys an excuse to come home, doesn’t it? Give your families some closure while we figure out the Terms and Agreements of the alliance?”

“Matt…” The expression on Pidge’s face shifts like the insides of complex machinery. Her eyes—her _tone_ —makes his stomach churn, boiling with the same guilt he knows everyone in the room is feeling. Matt’s face falls. “This…this whole thing…”

“This _is_ our closure,” Hunk finishes, eyes downcast. “We can’t just leave. There’s going to be a fight, and we’re the ones meant to stop it. We’re the Paladins of Voltron, whether we like it or not.”

Allura’s eyes move from the screen, over to Hunk, with something akin to hurt in them. He avoids not only her gaze but everyone’s as he kicks his foot across the tile. Hunk’s never been an acrimonious person—sure, he’s sarcastic, incredibly nosy, and he can be a bit of an asshole when he wants to be, but _bitter?_ Sure, the guy can hold a valid grudge, but…this tone makes him look like a completely different person.

Lance swallows and forces himself to look away. A part of him knows Hunk’s right, but he hates hearing it from him like that. Even if they wanted to go home, they have too much responsibility. Early on, they all decided they were in this fight until they couldn’t fight anymore. So, even if they wanted to go back on their word...

But it’s only natural, right? Like—who actually wants to be a soldier and put their life on the line? Regardless of it being the right or noble thing to do, who would deliberately make this decision? His hypocrisy hits him like a punch to the gut as his mind grazes over a memory sprouting in the back of his head, so sudden it almost sees the white brick, wooden dining table, and dark, angry eyes.

Right. He made that decision. Keith made that decision. Shiro made that decision. They all wanted to be fighter pilots. They all made it into the program. But Hunk? He wanted to be an engineer. Pidge might have wanted to be a pilot, but she was a communications officer. The two weren’t soldiers, they chose to stay because they knew it was the right thing to do, but it wasn’t their intentions.

But, for an alliance…

“I mean like Matt said…” Lance’s tongue darts out between his drying lips. His friends turn to him. “It’d be on official business.”

“Lance,” Allura frowns, “you and I both know that we’re in the middle of something— _vital_ here on Loimia.”

He nods his head, almost eagerly. “No, no, no, I know we are, Princess,” Lance assures as he waves his hands in front of him. “But don’t you think after this mission, it’d be important? To _all_ of us? And the thought of going back to Earth so we can establish an alliance after such a _big thing_ would be a good idea, actually?”

Allura blinks, and it takes a tick, but eventually, her eyes alight with recognition and widen. A grin curls on her lips as she breathes out, “ _ohhh_ , you’re _right_ ” and then actually _winks_. It’s cute, but Lance still has to fight off the urge to smash his face into the wall, so not really. He simply offers her a chuckle.

“That’s not suspicious at all,” Matt says underneath his breath, but the mic easily picks it up and Pidge loudly snorts. He then looks over his shoulder, past the Garrison workers across the room, and sighs before turning back to the call. “I guess I have to leave you to speak with the guys left in charge. If an alliance is what you’re looking for, I can assure you the Rebellion will stand by Voltron’s side during this, uh…uphill battle.”

That’s all they can really ask for, Lance guesses, but the way Matt words his promise leaves him feeling unsteady. Hopefully getting the Garrison on their side won’t be too troublesome—the whole point of the communications device was to get closure. If they aren’t allowed that, then…he has no idea what they’d do.

He knows it’s important to Hunk and Pidge that they have a chance to talk to the families again, especially now that there’s danger coming over the horizon. But going home for a quick not-vacation would be a great thing for Shiro to wake up to, wouldn’t it? After everything he’s gone through for the past two years, the guy deserves to have some semblance of normalcy in his life. Earth would be a great place to start.

“We’ll talk again soon, Matt,” Pidge says, her eyes sparkling as she stares up at the screen. The grin spread across her face is brighter than Lance has ever seen, and he can’t help but offer Matt a small smile as well.

“Of course, we will, Pidge,” Matt replies, beaming. “Handing you over to First Lieutenant Wajdi and Executive Officer Alvarez.”

As Matt steps aside with the two other aliens he never introduced, another man walks to the screen. Matt offers him a salute and he gets a nod in acknowledgment. Some mumbling of theirs transmits, but there isn’t anything solid enough to piece together a conversation. However, the man’s eyebrows furrow as Matt hands him a scrappy datapad. His hand looks like a patchwork of brown and beige skin, and as Lance’s eyes trail up his arm, he realizes that his face is equally as scarred as well.

It’s impossible for him to notice when Matt leaves the call. Lance’s eyes are trained on to the new man and he wonders why he feels so drawn to him—it almost feels as if he isn’t the one who’s in control of his body, what with the fog clouding his chest. Watching the man breathe out a small sigh, he turns his head and glances at the screen and then looks back over his shoulder.

Then, his body grows stiff. His fingers tighten against the datapad.

Slowly, he turns his head back to the call.

On his uniform, his nametag reads _A. WAJDI._

“What the…?” His wide eyes blink a couple of times as his eyebrows twitch low on his face. Lance can’t tell what he’s seeing, but the look reminds him of something a protagonist of a horror movie would have and he can’t help but wonder if the guy’s seen a ghost. “Are—is that—”

“…what happened to you?”

It takes a second, but Lance peels his eyes away from the man in front of him and focuses himself on Keith. It’s the first time he’s spoken out—he hadn’t even said a word about Matt or connecting with Earth in general—but when he sees the look across his face, Lance can’t say he’s surprised. Keith knows this man—at least, he knows him well enough for something strange to stretch across his face.

Lance looks back to the screen. His stare falls back on to his nametag. _A. WAJDI_ . His chest clenches. _Oh_ , his brain can’t help but offer, _oh_ . This isn’t just any instructor, this is _Adam_ —Keith’s former guardian, Shiro’s former fiancé. The one who was left behind.

“I…” Adam’s at a loss for words. His eyes, a dark black, seem vacant of anything but shock. “Piloting accident. Ship broke down, ended up crash landing…” he shakes his head. “What happened to you?”

Keith forces out a laugh, but it’s wet and strained. It sounds more like a sob but there are no tears in his eyes. The pain across his face is evident, Keith isn’t wearing a mask like he usually is, but it’s all so…different. He doesn’t look like he misses Adam, at least not on the surface. He looks ashamed.

“Abducted,” Keith finally replies, his voice holding the same tone Adam’s did. “Sort of.”

“You disappeared before that.”

He looks away from the screen, eyes wide like he’s refusing to blink. Keith’s lip quivers but he bites down on it for a brief moment. His hands clench in and out of fists. “I didn’t,” he says back, still avoiding eye contact. “I—it wasn’t like that.”

The glare in Adam’s eyes would be cold if the desperation alongside it wasn’t so warm. He thinks that maybe Adam’s confused with the way his lips press into a frown and his eyebrows furrow even lower on his face, but he shuts his eyes and shakes his head in an incredulous manner. There’s something there Lance doesn’t understand; it’s like he walked into the theater an hour too late and he’s seeing the end of something substantial.

“I looked _everywhere_ for you.” He sounds mad. Why does Adam sound mad? “I made flyers, sent out missing-persons reports, checked the _morgue._ I was so terrified that—that I lost you too, so…come on, kid. Don’t tell me it’s not like that.”

Keith doesn’t look up. “You got mad at me,” he mumbles, voice smaller than it’s ever been. “That day. You didn’t—you said you couldn’t even—” his brows lower. “It doesn’t matter. I—we have business to do, Adam, I can’t—”

“I feel like I deserve an answer.”

“Yeah, well,” Keith darts his eyes to the side, expression contorted into something tight, “I deserved someone who cared about me.”

Low blow. Lance flinches at the words just as harshly as Adam does, but there’s no way to compare his own discomfort to the grief Adam doesn’t even try to hide.

Somehow Lance knows what Keith said wasn’t true. How could Adam not care about Keith? How can Keith say that when Adam stands right in front of them, so close to tears? He hates himself for even thinking this, but he knows how Keith feels right now.

It’s funny. Becoming an audience member to the same fight he had with his mother really puts things into perspective.

“That’s unfair,” Adam says. “You can’t—you know how much I love you, Keith. You’ve always been like a son to me.”

“We’re not having this conversation right now, Adam.” Keith’s eyes flick up to the screen, dark and far away. It’s like Lance suddenly became a time-traveler and now he’s once again seeing how Keith looked at everyone back before Voltron started. There’s a thick wall placed between Keith and Adam, a distance only growing further and further with each heartbeat thumping in their chests. He doesn’t say anything else and turns to Lance, expression an empty canvas. Keith then nods, like he’s allowing Lance to speak.

“Uh?” Lance looks back to the screen, glancing back at Keith only a few times before he straightens his shoulders. “Matt told us we’d also be speaking with Executive Officer Alvarez. Will they be joining us today?”

Adam glares at the screen before he adjusts the thin glasses on the bridge of his nose. His left-hand trembles as it moves, but he doesn’t seem bothered by it, so Lance thinks it must be natural for him. It takes Adam a minute to respond, but eventually, he breathes out a sigh, keeping all the tension for himself, before he nods his head. “Unfortunately, Officer Alvarez has come down with the flu, so she’s resting in her quarters. It’ll just be me today. Is there a reason for this call other than to offer your hand in a fight?”

 _That’s one way to put it,_ Lance thinks as he frowns.

“Having the Galaxy Garrison and the Rebellion join the Voltron Coalition would be the best option for the safety of your planet,” Lance says. “We just discussed this with Matt—the Empire was already close to Earth when they first abducted the Kerberos crew. Shiro, Matt, and Sam were imprisoned and from what we know, only two of them managed to escape. Having Earth unprotected is dangerous for all of humanity now.”

Adam narrows his eyes like Lance had just said something suspicious. “And how could an alliance offer anything to us when you’re galaxies away from the Milky Way?”

“Uh…the teludav?”

The look on Adam’s face would be funny if Lance didn’t know exactly how he felt. Altean science is weird and when Coran tried to explain it to him the first time, Lance had just thrown up his hands and thought, _it’s just magic,_ so there’s no way he could even begin to explain how the heck they’d get back to Earth in time to fight a Galra fleet.

“Princess Allura has the ability to open up wormholes,” Keith says flatly. “So, depending on where we are, we could get to Earth in a few vargas— _if_ her skills aren’t exhausted.”

“Right. Space magic,” Adam mutters as he pushes his fingers underneath the rims of his glasses and rubs his eyes. “You see that a ton around here.”

“Imagine what it’s like in space!”

Adam gives Lance an unreadable look that has him shrinking in on himself. He doesn’t ever remember seeing him around the Garrison, but there’s still a familiarity in the look, and it sends Lance’s stomach bubbling over with embarrassment. Maybe it’s weird, but he really wants Adam to like him? He tries not to think too deeply about why.

“So, uh,” Lance clears his throat, a hot flush rising up the back of his neck. “But other than offering help, it’d—it’d make us feel better to have a stable connection with Earth. It’s been a long time since any of us have spoken to our families, and…” Lance makes a face. “Like you said before. They deserve to know what happened to us.”

Once again, it’s a low blow, but he has to appeal to Adam’s interests. Lance has no idea whether or not they’ll be able to talk to their families or what the Garrison told them what happened, but with what’s happening with Shiro, he has to try. He’s not the only one who’s homesick around here.

Just like Lance thought he would, Adam deflates like a sad balloon, expression crumbling into one of sympathy and maybe even one of empathy for his own desire for answers. He nods his head, a quick, enthusiastic movement, which offers a rush of pride through Lance at the sudden change in demeanor. 

“Okay, yeah,” Adam agrees, raising his chin up. “Let’s talk about terms. Hope you don’t mind me recording this conversation to relay to the General.”

“We’ll send a transcript too, if that helps,” Coran says from across the room.

With the way Adam’s eyes drag across his screen, Lance wonders if Coran is still out of frame or if Adam can see him. Either way, Adam offers a nod once again and taps a button offscreen. There’s a bleep and the video feed distorts for a single second before everything smooths out.

“All right, Voltron,” Adam begins, “why don’t we start from the beginning?”

It wasn’t surprising that they each had to have a moment alone with Adam to explain what happened the night of the crash, considering they had broken into military property and then yeeted away from the Earth before they could get apprehended, but Lance has run the story of the night they left through his head a countless number of times.

Spitting out the story and answering questions Adam had for him was easy. Waiting for everyone else to do the same, however, was not.

Okay, and listen. He was the second person to go talk to Adam after Coran had pulled them away, leaving only Hunk and Keith left. When he got back to the lounge and sent Hunk on his way back to the control room, he expected another ten minutes before Keith took his turn.

Forty-five minutes have passed since Hunk left, and Lance isn’t the only one on edge.

“Is he telling him the entire damn backstory of Voltron?” Keith grumbles as he paces alongside the wall behind him, hands clenched into tight fists and shoulders wound up high. “It shouldn’t take this long!” His sentence ends with a loud thud and a pained groan.

“Hey, dumbass,” Lance looks over his shoulder with a flat stare, “punching things isn’t going to help. Didn’t you learn this already?” 

Keith whips his head to the side, shooting an icy glare to Lance as he clutches his right wrist. “Shut up,” he says back. “You’re stressed out, too!”

“Well _duh_.” Lance rolls his eyes. “And you’re not helping with your energy, so. Sit down.”

“You _know_ I need to move around when I get anxious!”

“Your pacing is making my stress worse, Keith!” Lance turns his entire body around so he’s sitting on his knees, looking up at where Keith stands across the room. “You see my hair? It’s turning _gray_! You’re making me age!”

That wasn’t a lie. At least, the first part wasn’t. When he had showered earlier, he noticed the streaks of gray in his roots taking his warm brown hair and turning it dull, but everyone in the room knows the stress isn’t just from Keith and contacting Earth.

Regardless, Keith scowls at him, offended, and his lips twitch as they curl up like he’s trying to hold back a snarl. “You’re being dramatic,” he settles on.

“Oho _ho_ , is that right? _I’m_ the one being dramatic?” asks Lance as he arches an eyebrow. “You’re the one with all the pent-up energy! Why don’t ya’ do something productive with it?”

For a brief second, Keith’s eyes drift away from their hold on Lance’s and he looks him up and down before he seems to catch himself, surprise taking over the bitter expression on his face.

Lance’s cheeks erupt in violent colors. What the heck was _that_? Did Keith just check him out? Lance forces out a scoff at the idea and he turns around to stare at the same wall he was before Keith spoke up. He figures it’s a much better thing to do than sit there and think too hard about whatever’s going on inside Keith’s head.

Plus, even if Keith’s being annoying, the fact Hunk has been gone for so long _is_ worrying.

There isn’t any need for him to get neck-deep in details when retelling the story of the day Shiro’s escape pod crashed by the Garrison, is there? When Lance himself went over the story, he just told it how it was—they snuck out, found Pidge, saw the crash, helped Keith break Shiro out, and then found the Blue Lion when Shiro woke up.

Lance frowns. He hopes Hunk’s okay. 

As if on cue, the lounge’s doors slide open. Lance’s head snaps to the entrance, eyes widening as Hunk steps through before his entire chest shatters at the sight. There’s something distinctly off about how his face is contorted.

“…Keith,” Hunk looks over to his left, his voice hoarse as if he’d been yelling, “it’s your turn.”

There’s a beat of silence before Keith nods. He doesn’t look back when he steps out of the room, but he does hesitate for a moment as the doors seal behind him. Lance peels his eyes away from the spot Keith lingered and turns back to Hunk. He throws himself off the couch and steps over the back cushion, heartbeat stuttering as Hunk crosses his arms and curls in on himself.

Lance reaches a trembling hand out to press on to Hunk’s shoulder. “What happened?”

“Nothing.” Hunk shakes his head, insisting. “It’s just—nothing.”

Peering closer, Lance catches Hunk’s red-rimmed eyes and the quiver of his chewed-red lips and his heart drops. Hunk isn’t usually one to shield his feelings—he’s always been emotionally intelligent and highly empathetic—so why is he lying now?

The question must show in his eyes because Hunk offers a wet laugh and he brings the soft side of his fist up to rub at his eyes, smudging the tears across his skin and sending his long eyelashes askew. “Dude, really,” Hunk says, lips curling up into a tight-lipped smile. “I’m all good. It’s just been an exhausting day.”

Lance pulls his hand away from Hunk, frowning. A part of him doesn’t believe Hunk and wants to press further, but he knows firsthand that sometimes people just need some space, so all Lance does is nod his head and smile back. Hunk knows he can talk to him about anything—at least he hopes he knows that—so if he’s needed, he’ll wait for it.

“Okay,” Lance says. “But what took you so long? That Adam guy didn’t give you any trouble, did he?”

Something flashes behind Hunk’s eyes but he laughs easily enough. “You know how I am when it comes down to telling stories.” Hunk’s punctuating shrug is meek. “I just told him everything there was to know about that day.”

“Like what we had for lunch in the cafeteria?” Pidge asks, eyes never trailing from her lopsided laptop situated in her lap. 

Hunk scoffs. “Just the important details, Pidge.”

“It was fruit-salad day,” Pidge replies. “That’s a pretty major detail.”

“Y’know, you’re right. Maybe I should go back and tell Adam I forgot a very crucial detail to my story,” Hunk says as he raised an eyebrow, “and take up more time until we all can all chat with the Garrison.”

“Or,” Lance cuts in, laughing nervously, “we can all agree that fruit-salad day is amazing and also our little secret? And maybe also not interrupt Keith when he’s talking to his dad-slash-brother-in-law?”

Pidge’s fingers freeze against the keyboard and her eyes grow out of focus. She turns her head and meets Lance’s eyes, her own curious pout on her face. “Brother-in-law?” She asks, tilting her head to the side.

“Adam was just a mentor of Keith’s, just like Shiro,” Hunk says. “The three hung around a lot after flight-class, remember?”

Lance shakes his head. “No, that’s—well, okay, maybe that’s true, but Adam was Keith’s other guardian,” he corrects. “I think he and Shiro adopted Keith together. Shiro, uh, wrote him a note when…you know, all that stuff happened.”

Pidge’s pout morphs into a full-on frown. “Keith never told me about that. Why’d he tell you?”

“Uh, probably because Lance is his best friend?”

“No way, that’s me! He’s told me that!”

Lance covers his face. “That’s the furthest thing from the point,” he groans into his palms. “We just have to be extra sensitive about—” he drops his hands and makes a vague gesture—“all that stuff, all right?”

“Listen, Lance, it’s cute that you’re worried about your boyfriend, but Keith’s a tough cookie.” Hunk pats Lance’s back a bit too roughly as he speaks, brightening when Pidge cackles and Lance shoots him an unimpressed glare. “And I’m not actually going to go interrupt his conversation with Adam.”

Lance rolls his eyes. “Okay, okay, I get it,” he says as he pulls away from Hunk. “Now we just have to wait for his emo-sesh to end. How long do you think that’s going to take, anyway?”

Pidge shrugs. “Beats me. I feel like we’ve been waiting for forever to talk to Earth, though. What’s another thirty-minutes?”

Well, she _does_ have a point there. He mentally curses to himself at the admission. Why does she have to be logical when he’s complaining? That ruins the whole fun.

Hunk manages a small laugh. “Guess we should make ourselves comfortable then, huh?”

  


>>>

  


Lance falls asleep against Hunk’s shoulder after fifteen minutes. His dreams are of metal walls and orange uniforms, shaky hands, and his own stuttering voice.

_“You wanna sit with us?”_

Dark hair, pale skin, guarded eyes.

_“…no thanks.”_

  


>>>

  


Lance thinks he should be used to waking up with panic stabbing through his nervous system, but unfortunately for him and his heart, he’s not, so when a warm hand brushes against his forehead, his eyes snap open and his entire upper-body jerks forward as a small gasp falls from his lips. His chest aches with a dull, steady throb, but if he’s honest, he doesn’t know if it’s from the jolt of fear or longing from the dream slipping out of the forefront of his mind. 

Thankfully, Lance manages to stabilize himself against the edge of the couch before flopping to the floor. His body feels anchored to the floor, heavy with sleep, and his brain feels like it’s been shoved in a blender, but he doesn’t slump back against the cushions. Instead, Lance rubs his eyes and relishes in the darkness before he opens them back to the blindingly bright light.

He’s in the lounge. Right. He...fell asleep here while waiting for Keith to finish talking to Adam.

Lance’s brows furrow as his eyes adjust to the light. Hunk and Pidge are gone, leaving no trace of them ever being there to begin with. The only other person in the room is Coran, and he’s standing a few feet away from Lance with a hand curled against his chest like he’s been burned. 

He startles, quickly stuttering out, “Wha…Coran? What are you doing?” as he once again tries to rub the remaining bit of sleep from his eyes. “What happened?”

“You fell asleep, my boy,” Coran replies after he smooths out his posture. He takes a few steps over to the couch and sits down on the edge of a cushion, eyes flicking across Lance’s face curiously. “Hunk and Pidge tried waking you up, but apparently you wouldn’t.”

Huh. His cheeks grow warm. He’s not really surprised. That…actually sounds like him. When he’s exhausted, he listens to no one—even if he had a decent amount of sleep beforehand. There’s something about napping that zaps his willpower away. It’s probably his greatest weakness, and no, he’s not being dramatic.

“Oh,” he mumbles back. “You stayed behind?”

Coran laughs like he said something particularly funny. “I was waiting for you to wake up,” Coran explains after he catches his breath. “If you’re interested in attending the festival, I wanted to make sure you had an escort. It would be rude for me to leave you here alone, would it not?”

He manages a small smile at that. “You still didn’t have to miss out on a party because I was taking a nap. I can handle myself.”

Coran’s mustache twitches and his eyes sparkle with something amused. “Of course you can, you’re a Paladin, for goodness sake.” He pats Lance’s shoulder. “But I almost had to force the rest of the Paladins to dress in appropriate attire for this party, you know. I couldn’t let you attend something out of dress-code.”

“You’re a true friend, Coran.”

Another laugh comes from Coran, and this time Lance joins in. His head is foggy, leaving him uncoordinated, but after a few seconds, he manages to gather the _umph_ he needs to push his feet off the couch. Coran stands before he does and reaches out a hand to help pull him up. He offers him a quiet thanks before rolling his aching shoulder.

His eyes then widen.

“Wait, the party?” asks Lance as he whips his head to Coran. “Like, the one Bobert was talking about before the meeting?”

Coran nods his head. “Yes, that’s the one. Everyone left nearly a varga ago.”

A cold feeling creeps in his chest and he finds himself scowling. The team left for the party without him. That isn’t something he cares about, really, it’s more of the fact that the meeting with the Galaxy Garrison _ended_ and the team moved on without explaining anything. They knew how much that meant to him, right? Pidge had even said he was a part of the reason why they tried so hard to get the communicator to work, and everyone just _left?_

“We have another meeting with the Galaxy Garrison coming up again shortly,” Coran adds. The gentle cadence to his voice makes Lance wonder if he can read his thoughts. “Don’t you worry, there wasn’t a thing you missed that was special. All we spoke of was simply finalizing a few things before the Galaxy Garrison ran out of time for us for the day.”

“But, uh, the meeting…” Lance says after a second, lips tugging into a frown as he glances up at Coran. “Did—did no one get to talk to their families or is that still, uh, pending…?”

Something flashes in Coran’s eyes and his expression visibly grows dreary “Oh, son…” Coran shakes his head as he reaches out and places a hand on Lance’s shoulder. “Only Pidge and Keith spoke to relatives from Earth today, and that’s only because they had a simple stroke of luck.”

His frown deepens and he looks away from Coran’s eyes to stare down at his boots. “That’s one way to put it,” he says under his breath.

“Lance,” Coran squeezes his shoulder. “Today was meant for official business. Realistically, having Matt and Adam be there for both Pidge and Keith to see was just a coincidence. That’s truly all it was.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“When the time comes, you’ll be able to send a message back to your family and let them know you’re okay,” Coran assures.

A sigh pushes out from his nose but he nods his head. Coran’s right, he knows that, but that doesn’t mean he isn’t feeling a little selfishly jealous. Somewhere deep inside, a part of him is extremely happy Pidge got to see that her brother was okay and that Keith got to talk to Adam, but there’s still the ugly, gnawing twinge in his chest repeating that it should’ve been him.

He shakes the thought off as best as he can. There’s no use thinking about it now, it’s already over. Lance just has to wait a little while longer to talk to—someone. He just has to wait a little while longer to let his family know everything’s okay. Like Pidge said before, he’s waited this long, so...a little longer won’t hurt.

It won’t. It _won’t_.

“I know,” Lance says, trying for a convincing smile. “I have next time. We’ve come so far already, so...I have nothing to worry about.”

Coran smiles back. “That’s right. Now, why don’t we get you dressed and head down to the Palace? It’s a wonderful evening and I think taking a breather would be a nice change of pace, would it not?”

Lance forces out a chuckle and nods his head. “Yeah, okay,” he agrees, standing up straighter. “A party sounds like fun.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posting this shitty chapter has the same energy as someone showing up to your place five hours later than expected with an iced coffee from Starbucks and a drink for you that the both of you know you actually hate with every fiber of your being.
> 
> Anyway. It’s been nearly two months since I’ve updated but I’m back! I got really depressed at the end of July and I spent the entirety of August hating everything I created so I sort of just...didn’t create anything? I stopped caring about everything and this literally took me ages to write because of that. I feel really bad about making you guys wait so long for an update, especially since this chapter is just building up to the next ones, but...it was needed, so. It’s better than nothing, I hope.
> 
> I really missed this universe and this story, so hopefully you guys can kick me back into gear and I’ll be able to get the next chapter out much faster than I did this time around.
> 
> Huge thanks to my best friend and beta reader Anna [@lujanne](https://lujanne.tumblr.com) for helping me with this chapter and this story in general. I probably wouldn’t have gotten this far if it wasn’t for her. And don’t forget to give some love to my other best friend, Darcy [@thespacenico](https://thespacenico.tumblr.com) for listening to me cry almost every night. It means the world to me that you’re so supportive of my writing.
> 
> As always, comments and kudos are greatly appreciated. You can also send me an ask on tumblr and I’ll probably cry and forget to answer it for another hour or so. Either way, I love hearing what you guys think of the story so far and seeing what you guys have to say makes my entire heart feel full enough to pop like a balloon. 
> 
> I hope you enjoyed! Thank you so much for reading, I’ll see you next time!
> 
>  
> 
> \- Cato
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> [tumblr](https://ghozting.tumblr.com) | [twitter](https://twitter.com/ghoztings) | [instagram](https://instagram.com/ghozting.art)
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> [CHECK OUT THE PLAYLIST WRAX MADE FOR KEITH!](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/0Ok1lXq36UuCVhNgQaa8GL)
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> 
> (by the way, check out the new art my dear friend amanda drew for chapter six below!! go give her some love)

**Author's Note:**

> HERE’S SOME AMAZING FAN PIECES THAT HAVE BEEN MADE FOR THE FIC! PLEASE GO CHECK THEM OUT AND SUPPORT THE ARTISTS!
> 
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> [UGHHH SOFTNESS FROM THE PROLOGUE DRAWN BY KIT](https://kiiat.tumblr.com/post/182859747905/i-read-ghozting-fic-you-hold-yourself-against)
> 
>  
> 
> [AHHHH AMAZINGLY BEAUTIFUL CH3 EDITS MADE BY THE ONE AND ONLY ANNA ](https://lujanne.tumblr.com/post/185797458666/i-made-some-screencap-edits-of-a-scene-in-chapter)
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> [CUTE CHAPTER 3 FEELS ALSO DRAWN BY KIT](https://kiiat.tumblr.com/post/184046862315/hes-safe-and-hes-at-home-he-doesnt-want)
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> [AAAAAHHHHHHHHHHH SOME SOFT CHAPTER 5 KLANCE ART BY AMANDA](https://www.instagram.com/p/B01tn0II2M-/)


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